Foolish Lover's Game
by TracyJean
Summary: Harm and Mac try to reconnect when he returns from flying, but Harm's actions end up push Mac into Mic Brumby's arms
1. Part 1

This is an adaptation of the season five episodes 'The Return' through 'Boomerang II' told from both Harm and Mac's POV. The title of the story is a line from the song 'Take My Breath Away', performed by Berlin and found on the _Top Gun_ soundtrack

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1305 ZULU  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I look at the stack of folders on my desk with a frustrated sigh, trying to decide where to start. That's part of the problem with TDY; the paperwork seems to grow exponentially while you are away so that you can't even find your desk on your return. Then again, Harm would say that I could never find my desk anyway.

Damn, just the thought of his name threatens to bring fresh tears to my eyes. I thought this was supposed to get easier. I didn't think I had any more tears left to shed over his leaving. 'Time heals all wounds.' Bull. I thought those wounds were healing, wanted - no, needed - to believe they were healing, only to have them all ripped open again during my recent trip to the USS Patrick Henry. Sure, we have exchanged e-mails periodically over the months since he left. He has written to me about the latest mission he is flying or about the extra workload he is pulling as the ship's legal officer. I have written about my latest investigation or the latest accomplishments of our godson. But nothing too personal.

I would never write and tell him about how I missed him so much that it was like a knife cutting through my soul, about all the tears I had shed after he had gone, about the nights I had spent in his apartment, sleeping in an old Navy sweatshirt of his in a desperate attempt to be closer to him, to hold on to the memories of what would now never be. He would never know of all the dreams I had, dreams in which there was finally nothing separating us - no designator change, no military rules and regulations, no obsessions. Just the dreams of a man and a woman who finally shared one heart, one soul.

And if he would never know these things that I've kept locked in my heart for the last five months, there are just as many things that I will never know about him. Did he shed any tears at all after he left me standing in the bullpen, staring after him helplessly as he walked away carrying a large piece of my heart and soul with him? Did he spend restless nights tossing and turning while memories of me invaded his thoughts and dreams? Did he ever find himself just staring off into space, wondering what I was thinking or doing at that exact moment? Did he keep locked in his heart that same love for me that I felt for him?

Then I was ordered by Admiral Chegwidden to the Patrick Henry to conduct an investigation into the bombing of a Russian transport in Kosovo by a member of Harm's squadron. During the long flight from Washington to Naples, I had found sleep impossible as thoughts of my former partner invaded my consciousness. On the helo from Naples out to the Patrick Henry, the butterflies were fluttering in full force in my stomach and I had to force myself to breath as I counted down in my head the minutes and seconds until I would see Harm again.

Then I had stepped out onto the carrier deck and there was the object of all my hopes and fantasies standing right in front of me, that familiar flyboy grin of his firmly in place, making me go weak in the knees. Then we were in each others' arms, a warm hug between friends and I had to force myself to let go, to not lose myself in the maelstrom of feelings this simple touch generated in me. It was almost as if we had never parted.

Until I removed my flight vest. Even before I looked at his face, into his eyes, I could feel him stiffen. My momentary confusion lifted as I looked at my shoulder and remembered that just a week earlier, I had traded in the gold oak leaf clusters of a Marine Major for the silver ones of a Lieutenant Colonel. I tried to brush it aside, to dismiss the promotion as if it was no big deal, to use humor in an attempt to lighten the moment, but it was no use. I could see it in his eyes. It was a big deal. Maybe that's why I hadn't mentioned the promotion in my last e-mail, the one I had sent informing him that I would be coming to the Patrick Henry. I had feared this very reaction.

Was he angry, upset, bitter? I don't know. I couldn't read what he was thinking by looking into his eyes. I do know that I had screwed up, been subjected to court-martial, stood in front of an Admiral's Mast, done things that would have gotten most people booted out of the service. Yet here I was, just months later, with a promotion and a new position as the Admiral's chief of staff. Harm had gone back to what he loved doing, to what he had trained half his life to do and he was still a Lieutenant Commander. I stayed and I got promoted; he left and he was being held back. Would he have gotten a promotion too if he had stayed at JAG? I think so - no, I know so, probably even before I got mine. The one question I didn't want to ask myself, the one question I didn't want to hear the answer to was 'Does he resent me for it?'.

Nothing was the same after that. Of course, it didn't help that we found ourselves on opposing sides of Lieutenant Buxton's court-martial. It wasn't the first time we had been on opposing sides, but this was different. Don't ask me how or why. I don't know the answer to those questions. It just was different. And it broke my heart.

Oh, I managed to keep it all hidden away neatly inside. I even smiled and joked with him after the trial was over. I tried to pretend that nothing had changed. But as Bud, Mic and I boarded the helo for our return flight to Naples, as I caught one last glimpse of Harm standing on the deck watching us leave, I had to admit the truth. Everything had changed. Everything.

I am brought back to the here and now by an insistent knock on my open office door. I look up to find Mic Brumby standing there, a smile on his face. God, not now. He has been trying to get me to go out with him almost since we met, but I have managed to fend him off so far, even since he stepped up his campaign in the wake of Harm's departure. Not that there is anything wrong with Mic Brumby, except for the most important thing of all. He's not Harm.

"I just wanted to see if perhaps you were free for lunch, Colonel," he says, careful to keep his tone professional, as if I was just another colleague. But I know it is just a façade. I'm not just another colleague, not to him. Why couldn't Harm have pursued me like that?

I look up at him and smile, aware that the smile doesn't quite reach my eyes, but I don't care. I'm not in the mood for Mic Brumby's persistence. Not when I'm trying to bind up the wounds on my heart again. "I'm sorry, Mic," I say, shrugging, "I've still got a lot of paperwork to catch up on." That much is certainly true. He just doesn't need to know the rest of it.

"Are you sure?" he persists.

The man just doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer. But that is the only one I am prepared to give. The only one I can give. "I can't," I assert, diverting my attention away from him by grabbing the top folder off my pile and opening it. Then I realize what a big mistake that is. The file I grabbed is my report on the Buxton court-martial. Damn. I do not need this.

Anything else Mic might try to say to change my mind is interrupted when Gunny appears at my door. Bless him. Mic backs away and promises, "Another time, Colonel," before he heads back to Harm's office. No, it's his office now. I have got to get it together and stop making everything about Harm.

"Ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you in his office," Gunny says.

"Thank you, Gunny," is my automatic reply as I push my chair back from my desk, grateful for the distraction, any distraction. With steady, measured steps, careful not to let outwardly show the turmoil in my soul, I head for the Admiral's outer office, where Tiner tells me that I am to go on directly in to see the Admiral.

I enter the Admiral's office to find him standing behind his desk, looking out the window onto the yard below. I recognize the stance. It usually means something is weighing heavily on his mind. As an automatic reflex, I close the door behind me. Somehow, I sense that what the Admiral is about to say is for my ears alone. I come to attention in front of his desk, waiting patiently for him to acknowledge my presence.

"Please take a seat, Colonel," he says, finally turning around to look at me. I do as he requests, curious about what he wants. He takes his seat and looks down at some papers on his desk for moment before looking up at me, an unreadable expression on his face. What is this about? I wonder.

"I just got off the phone with the SecNav," he begins, as I wonder anew what this is all about. If this is about a case, why am I the only one in here? Why not include Bud or Mic or one of the other JAG lawyers? I fold my hands in my lap and wait patiently for him to explain.

"I have just been informed that we are getting a new lawyer," he continues, removing his glasses and tossing them on the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Is that what this is about, a new lawyer at JAG? I don't want to hear anything about a new lawyer. No matter how many lawyers come and go from here, none of them will ever bring the same fire and intensity into the courtroom as Harm. None of them ever could. And then my heart stops as I hear the Admiral's next words.

"Our new lawyer is one Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.," he finishes. He leans back in his chair and looks at me expectantly.

I didn't hear him right. I couldn't have. Admiral Chegwidden did not just tell me that Harm is coming back to JAG. It must be another lawyer, someone whose name is similar. I just want Harm back in my life so badly that I am hearing things wrong. That has to be it. "Harm is. . . .coming back?" I manage to say, my voice almost a whisper, like a prayer, as I hope with everything that is in me that I heard him correctly.

"Yes, Colonel," he replies, not commenting on my unprofessional demeanor. Perhaps he can see how hard this is for me. "Apparently, it has been determined that his career would be better served by a return to JAG."

Determined? By whom? Is Harm coming back because he wants to or is he somehow being forced to leave flying again? Oh, God, I want him back. I just want him to want it, too. I try to push all these questions aside and ask, "When will Commander Rabb be returning?" Commander Rabb. Let's try to keep this professional.

"He will report for work here first thing Monday," Admiral Chegwidden tells me. "Due to your close friendship with the Commander, I thought you would like to be the first to know. I will have a meeting with the staff tomorrow morning and inform everyone else then. Dismissed."

I stand quickly and snap to attention. "Aye, aye, sir," I say automatically. I turn to leave, but pause, my hand on the door knob. I turn back to the Admiral and say, "Thank you, sir," before leaving the office.

I stand in the Admiral's outer office for a moment, willing my heart to start beating again. He's coming back on Monday. Monday. Monday. It becomes like a mantra to me. Today is Thursday. In just four days, Harm will be back. Back to JAG. Back to me.

I quickly head back to my office, my steps hurried, but I don't try to moderate my walk. Everyone will probably just assume Admiral Chegwidden handed me some new case that I want to get started on right away. Oh, the Admiral handed me something alright. Something far more important than any case could ever be. He just handed me a lost piece of my soul.

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1305 ZULU  
USS PATRICK HENRY  
ADRIATIC SEA

I stand on the observation deck, the wind and the blast from the jets ruffling my hair, watching the Tomcats take off for yet another day patrolling the skies over Kosovo, a part of me saddened by the fact that I am not up there with them. Today is my last full day on the Patrick Henry. Tomorrow, I will begin the long journey back to my former life, back to JAG. . . .

Back to Sarah. When I am like this, I can't think of her as Mac. Mac is the name of someone's friend, my best friend. Sarah is. . . .what? What is she to me exactly? I know that the feelings I have for her go beyond mere friendship, into an area that I can't begin to quantify or describe with words. I've tried not to think of her that way, but I can't control the feelings in my heart and soul the way I can control other aspects of my life. I'm not sure I want to. I am sure that I've never felt this way about anyone before, not even Diane. Once, I would never have thought that I could get past the loss and despair I felt when Diane died. But I did. Because of Sarah.

As happy as I was to return to flying, it hurt me more than I can put into words to leave her. When she came into my office that last day to say goodbye and I held her in my arms, I wanted so much to hold on forever, to never let her go. She was crying as if her heart was breaking and I wanted to cry, too. Oh, how I wanted to. I wanted to cry, to find comfort in her arms, to find the words to say everything that I was feeling.

Why didn't I? Was it because I was afraid to finally let her know everything I was feeling and find out that she wouldn't feel the same? Or was it because I was afraid that she would return my feelings and beg me to stay? Both. Or neither. I wish I knew the answer to that question. So I shed all my tears in private where no one, especially not her, could see that the outwardly strong, confident and self-assured officer that everyone knows is human just like everyone else and can have his heart broken.

Maybe there had also been a part of me that had been afraid that if I let go and let her in, then I would want to stay, would need to stay, more than I wanted and needed to return to flying. I had tried to tell myself that I had to return to flying, that it was in my blood and that I couldn't let anything stand in the way of that. Not even her.

So when we exchanged e-mails, I kept them impersonal, talking about the latest mission over the Balkans or some of the drudgery of my duties as the Patrick Henry's legal officer. I never wrote about how much I missed her. Or how I would become lost in thought and wonder where she was and what she was doing. Or how she haunted my dreams. She could never know everything that I have been keeping locked up in my heart and soul for five long months.

Her messages were equally devoid of anything of a personal nature. I would read about her latest investigation or trial. Or she would pass on tidbits about our godson's first smile, the first time he crawled or how much he is growing. But she has never told me if she sees my face, hears my voice every time she closes her eyes. I have never read if she automatically turns to ask my opinion about something, only to find that I am not there. If she has been harboring any of the same thoughts and feelings that I have been, she has never let me know.

When it was announced that Lieutenant Buxton had killed some Russian peacekeepers, I knew even before I got her e-mail that she would be coming out here. This was an important case with international ramifications. It only made sense that the Navy would send its best lawyer out here, even if she is a Marine. After I received her message that she was coming, I had wished that I had her ability with time. Then I would have counted the hours and minutes until her helo touched down on the carrier deck.

I had stood there on the deck as the helo touched down, eagerly taking in the first sight of my jarhead in nearly five months. Then she was in my arms and I had to resist the urge to hold on tight, to never let her go again. It was as if time had turned back and I had never left.

Until we were inside the carrier and she removed her flight vest. I had frozen when I saw the silver oak leaf clusters on her shoulders that signified her new status as a Lieutenant Colonel. When had this happened? Why hadn't she shared this with me? She had tried to brush it off, to make it sound like it was no big deal. A promotion? No big deal? Not after everything that she had been through in the last year. As happy as I was for her, it hurt that she couldn't bring herself to share her good news with me. I had thought that I meant more to her than that. That we meant more to her.

Maybe she was embarrassed that she had been promoted and here I was, stuck as a Lieutenant Commander. I don't know. Would I have promoted too if I had not returned to flying, if I had stayed at JAG? I know it sounds arrogant, but I think I would have been. I am confident in my abilities as an officer and as a lawyer.

Unfortunately, here on the Patrick Henry I am just an aging retread competing against officers who were in grade school when I was where they are now. Do I resent her for being promoted because it hasn't happened to me? No, I don't. But I did start to wonder at that moment if leaving JAG was the best thing and that I can't stand. I wanted to be in the air again. It means everything to me. Or at least that is what I keep telling myself. I thought that if I told myself that enough times, I would actually believe it.

After that moment, nothing was the same. She had reached out to me, but I made it sound as if I was brushing her aside, more concerned about the affect on my image with my fellow aviators than with reconnecting with an old and dear friend. As soon as that lame joke about her giving me the bubonic plague was out of my mouth, I had wished more than anything that I could have taken those words back. It had pained me to see the brief flash of pain in her brown eyes and to know that I was the one who had caused it.

Dear God, the last thing I had ever wanted to do was hurt her, but for some reason, it seems that I couldn't help myself. Maybe it's true what they say, that we can only be hurt by the ones we love. If so, then I must love her so much to have caused her so much pain, between my abandoning her for the air and my thoughtless remarks when we saw each other for the first time in months.

When we faced off during the court-martial, everything was the same, the two of us on opposite sides as we had been many times before, both arguing passionately for our causes, even if one of us did not wholeheartedly believe in that which we were fighting for. But at the same time, everything was different. I can't put my finger on it, can never find the words to explain it. It just was.

Oh, I tried to pretend that nothing had changed. I even managed to plaster a smile on a face and smile and joke with her after the trial as I tried to pretend. But as I stood on the carrier deck, watching the helo take off that was carrying her back to Washington and out of my life, I had to admit the truth to myself. Everything had changed. Everything.

Maybe that is why, when the CAG suggested that I had nothing left to prove in the air and that it was time for me to move on, it didn't hurt as much as it probably should have. Deep down, I have to admit that he is right. Now it is time for me to leave flying on my terms and not due to circumstances that I have no control over. I do want to return to JAG. Buxton's court-martial, as distasteful as it was for me, showed me that the law is as much in my blood as flying is. There is so much I can do at JAG, both for the Navy and her officers and sailors and for myself.

Just four more days. On Monday, I will walk back into JAG Headquarters. I know things will be different. I left. I will not be the top dog at JAG when I return. After all, there is a certain jarhead who ranks above me now. But I know it will not be long before I am back on top of my game, even if I have to grovel before the Admiral for a few months before I am there. But I will be there.

But even more importantly, in four more days I will be returning to her, to my beautiful jarhead, to Sarah. As I look out over the Adriatic Sea with the sun high in the sky on this Thursday, one of the last days that I will have to spend without her, I wonder yet again where she is at this moment and what she is doing. If it's just after three here, then it is just past nine in the morning back in D.C. She is probably in her office right now, going over case files, perhaps preparing to head into court in a bit.

Does she know yet that I am returning? I wish I could be there, to capture her face in my memory when she finds out, to read in her eyes if all the hopes and dreams that I harbor in the depths of my soul are echoed in hers. I want to believe that it is so. I need to believe that I am returning to more than just a job, that I have something to come home to besides work and a cold, lonely apartment. As I stare out over the water, I send my thoughts westward on a wave of prayer, with the hope that perhaps somehow she can sense across the miles what I am thinking. Hang on just a little bit longer, Sarah. I'm coming home. I'm finally coming home.

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2155 ZULU

HARM RABB'S APARTMENT

NORTH OF UNION STATION

WASHINGTON D.C.

I'll never know how I got through the rest of the day at work after my meeting with the Admiral. I'm not even sure if I accomplished anything while there. I probably didn't. The whole day seemed to pass in some kind of misty haze of emotion as one simple thought kept repeating itself over and over in my mind, like a stuck record. He's coming home, he's coming home, he's coming home. Did anyone notice that I was not entirely there? Was it obvious when someone had asked me something that it would take me a moment to register what was being said to me before I could even begin to think of forming a response? Could they see in my eyes every daydream I had today, imagining the moment he will walk through those elevator doors?

Intellectually, I know I am being ridiculous. Until tomorrow morning, I am the only person besides Admiral Chegwidden who knows that Harm is returning. No one else knows. No one. I just can't help it if my heart isn't listening. In my heart, I am sure that the whole world can see what an emotional mess I am and what – or rather, who – is the cause of it. In my soul, I know that everyone can hear the rapid pounding of my heart and can read the turmoil in my mind.

Since I can't get my mind off of Harm anyway, I decided that I would spend my evenings preparing his apartment for his return, which is why I am here now. I figure that I will clean tonight and spend tomorrow evening shopping to stock the fridge and cabinets. Not that the place really needs to be cleaned except for some light dusting. After all, no one has lived her for five months, which is really my fault. Harm left so quickly once the Annie Lewis case was wrapped up that he didn't have time to find a renter, so he left that particular job to me. I just couldn't bear to do it, to lose one of the last tangible links to him that I had, so when he asked about it in one of his e-mails, I said that I hadn't been able to find a renter yet and left it at that. He didn't need to know that I was in no mood to even try.

Harm had left the utilities connected, figuring that it would be easier for me if I had to get in here for some reason if the lights and water still worked. He had already made arrangements for the bills to be paid out of his bank account, so that hasn't been a concern. If someone had rented the place, he had reasoned, the cost of utilities could be included in the monthly rent. He just never knew how often I needed to get in here, how his home had become my refuge during those long, lonely summer nights when the pain in my heart was too much to bear and I needed to be close to him, even if it was only figuratively.

I sit down on the couch and pull my knees up against my chest, my arms wrapped around my legs as I spend a few moments trying to sort through my tortured thoughts. Even after all these months, I can still feel his presence here, hear the sound of his voice, even smell his after shave. If I close my eyes and imagine hard enough, I can even see him standing in front of me, that familiar grin on his face that has always warmed my heart. This apartment is filled with ghosts, but sometimes those are my greatest comfort. Maybe now I am truly beginning to understand why he held onto the hope that his father was alive for so long. If he could hold onto that, then maybe it made the pain that much easier to bear.

Okay, Marine, enough of the armchair psychology, I scold myself as I will myself to get up from the couch and do something, anything. Finding a notepad and pen, I head for the kitchen and make an inventory of everything I think he will need. As long as I have known him, I know what he likes to eat, even if I tease him about it, and I know what health food stores he does his shopping at. Stocking the kitchen will not be that hard. I even begin to mentally plan a coming home dinner for him, then kick myself for being too presumptuous. I don't know what he is thinking. For all I know, he could want to try to reconnect with Jordan.

Jordan. There's a subject that I have tried not to think about during the last five months. I know that she was not happy about his leaving, Harm had hinted at that but I didn't really know much beyond that aside from the fact that I had seen how stiff and distant she had been at AJ Roberts' christening. Then about a month after Harm left, I ran into her at Bethesda while I was there for my annual physical. We had always been on friendly terms, even if we weren't really friends, so I had made small talk with her for a few minutes. Then I had asked if she had heard from Harm.

Even before she had opened her mouth, the look in her eyes and the way her hand had tightened around the chart she was holding told me everything. There was a part of her that hated him for leaving, that couldn't understand how he could give her up to return to the air. That I will never understand. In my mind, if she had really loved him, then she would have understood why he had to go back to flying, would have known that if he had stayed, then he would have lost a piece of himself and he would not have been the same person that she loved. How could she, as a psychiatrist, even think of forcing him to choose like that?

I lost any respect I might have had for her in that moment, even before she managed to spit out, "Harm and I said everything that needed to be said before he left." That statement killed our conversation very quickly, as I forced myself not to get into an argument with her about it and to just walk away. I hate that Harm left, but I could never, not in a million years, even think of hating Harm for leaving. But Jordan did hated him for leaving and in turn, I began to hate her. I just haven't been able to figure out if I hate her because she hurt my best friend or if it is because she is so obviously undeserving of his love and attention. Probably both. Probably also very petty of me, but I don't care.

I force myself not to think about it and decide that perhaps it is best if I ask him before planning a welcome home dinner. Maybe he will have something better to do. I hope not, but I don't want to risk a broken heart when I am so unsure if his feelings go beyond mere friendship. I think that would hurt even worse than his leaving ever could.

Finished making my list, I tear the paper off the pad and fold it carefully, tucking it away in my purse until tomorrow. I take a deep breath, trying to tear my mind away from the tormenting thought that his feelings for me might not run as deep as mine for him, trying to force my mind back to the task at hand. Opening the cabinet under the sink, I find a can of furniture polish, some window cleaner and some rags.

I decide to tackle the furniture first and attack it I do – with a vengeance. It doesn't matter to me if it really needs to be cleaned or not. I take polish and rag to every available surface, rubbing and scrubbing until everything shines. Even as much as I want to do this for Harm, to give him a clean place to come home to, I realize that I am doing this as much for myself. I need to keep busy. I need to try and stop thinking so much.

After I finish with the living room and kitchen, I move into the bedroom, trying to keep my mind focused on what I am doing now and not on what I hope will happen in that room in the future. I try not to imagine. . . . Just don't think about it, I tell myself. Suck it up, Marine. Only when I think that last bit, it's not my voice in my head, but his. Oh boy, have I got it bad.

Fantasies about Harm are nothing new. Those go back almost as far as our friendship. I had my first real, full-fledged fantasy about him that night in the Appalachian mountains. At the time, I told myself that it was my mind's way of dealing with a stressful, life-threatening situation. Either that or hallucinations from my fever. But that one was far from the last. I remember something Chloe once said about how she wasn't sure how much I had told her about Harm was real and how much was just my fantasies. Was I that obvious? Did Harm ever realize or did he just dismiss what Chloe said as something a little sister would say to embarrass her big sister?

I dismiss all these thoughts from my mind as I sink to my knees beside the bed, resting my head on the cool sheets as I finally allow myself, after a long day of conflicted thoughts and fears, to forget everything but the hope and dream of finally being in his arms and revealing everything that I'm keeping locked up in my heart.

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2155 ZULU

USS PATRICK HENRY

ADRIATIC SEA

I lay quietly in my bunk, trying desperately to find the comfort that sleep will bring, even as I tell myself that it will be a losing battle. I try to pass off my inability to sleep as excitement about the journey I will be beginning tomorrow. I will spend the morning out processing, taking care of the mounds of paperwork associated with my designator change and my PCS. Then I will depart the Patrick Henry for the last time, heading for Aviano Air Base, where I will spend the night before catching a Saturday morning flight to Andrews AFB and home.

But I know it's not just the excitement that is keeping me up tonight. It's nerves. I'm afraid of what I will find when I get home. Or what I won't find. Or maybe both. I wish I knew what to expect, but I'm afraid to know. And afraid to ask.

All day, I had played with the idea of e-mailing Sarah or taking a few minutes to give her a phone call. So many times today, I have found myself near one of the ship's phones and I am so tempted to pick it up and dial. I need to hear her voice so badly, as badly as I've ever needed anything in my life. But does she want to hear from me? That question torments me. I wish I knew what she was thinking, but I am so afraid to ask, so afraid to find out that she doesn't feel the same.

Why am I afraid? Another question I keep asking myself. This is my best friend I'm talking about here. We've already shared so much as friends. She's been there for me at some of the lowest points of my life – the search for my father in Russia, my confrontation with Diane's killer, my court-martial and brig break. So why can't I tell her that I want her, that I want us to be more?

There are no easy answers to these questions. I wish there were. I'm a lawyer; it's my job to bring the answers to light. To find the truth. What did Bobbi Latham once call me – her 'truth detector'? Would that I could detect it here.

I tell myself that I need to stop thinking about this and I decide to think about what I am going to do once I am home. At least I have a home to return to. I had asked Sarah to find someone to rent my place after I left, but she never did. Fortunate for me. I think that I need a sense of familiarity in my life as I explore all these unfamiliar feelings.

Mentally, I make a list of things I need to get. One of the first orders of business will be to stock the fridge. The last thing I want is to spend my first days home going out to eat or ordering takeout. I want to cook for myself, something I haven't been able to do for five months. Maybe I'll even make my famous meatless meatloaf, if only to see Sarah's reaction.

As thoughts of her return to my mind, I toss around in my mind the idea of inviting her to dinner on one of my first nights home. Just the two of us, Harm and Sarah, reconnecting after being so far apart for so long. It sounds like heaven to me.

But I know there are some things I need to take care of first. Like Jordan. Things ended badly between us and I owe her at least a phone call, a chance to get together, to explain and to apologize. I never meant to hurt her, but she never understood. To be honest, despite the fact that she is a psychiatrist and it is her job, I don't think she ever really understood me at all. Maybe that was what made me realize how wrong Jordan was for me.

When I told Jordan that I was thinking of leaving, she was furious, telling me she had fallen in love with a lawyer, not an aviator. But Sarah, as upset as she was, she understood. My leaving tore her apart – I saw that on my last day – but she understood. I just wish I had seen the difference between the two women earlier. Maybe then I would have already been able to open up to Sarah and I wouldn't be lying here, my stomach all tied up in knots, worried about the possibility of my dreams all turning to ashes.

I close my eyes again, trying once again to seek refuge in sleep. But I can see her clearly in my mind. I can hear her voice and feel her touch and, realizing that sleep will not come easy this night, I lose myself in my dreams and fantasies of everything that I want to be.

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SATURDAY

1405 ZULU

SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON D.C.

I stand near the window, looking out onto a sunny fall day, wishing that my feelings could be so bright and clear. Any moment now, the military transport flight carrying Harm from Aviano Air Base will be landing at Andrews. Harm had not contacted anyone to let us know his itinerary, but Bud did some checking and found out what flight he was on. Harriet and Bud are planning on being at the terminal to meet him, along with the godson that Harm hasn't seen in five months except through pictures. Both of them had tried to insist that I should be there also to welcome him home.

Why aren't I there? I've questioned my decision not to go all last night and all this morning. I wanted to go, wanted it so badly. But as Thursday turned into Friday and Friday passed into Saturday with no word from Harm, I felt I had no choice but to stay away. Harm has not contacted me – no phone call, no e-mail – to even let me know he is coming home. Something is keeping him from reaching out to me and it scares me to think of what that might be.

As I stocked his kitchen last night, I kept going over and over in my mind the reasons why he had not contacted me. Jordan. My promotion. The awkwardness between us on the USS Patrick Henry. Was it all of them? Or none of them? More than anything else, I wish he would just talk to me. Why doesn't he want to talk to me?

-----

1455 ZULU

AIR MOBILITY COMMAND TERMINAL

ANDREWS AFB, MARYLAND

As Bud and Harriet gather up my luggage, passing off little AJ to me, I can't help but think about the one who isn't here. Why didn't she come to welcome me home?

I've heard nothing from her. No phone call, no e-mail, nothing to say that she was looking forward to my return. I know that she knows. Harriet told me that Admiral Chegwidden announced my return to the entire staff at a meeting yesterday morning. I wanted to ask them what her reaction was to the news, but I was afraid to, afraid that I would not want to hear their answer.

As Thursday became Friday and Friday turned into Saturday, and there was still no word from her, I tried not to think about the fact that she has not contacted me. I tell myself that I don't want to know what her reasons might be.

So lost in these tortured thoughts, it takes me a moment to register that Harriet is talking to me. Forcing myself back to the present, I say, "I'm sorry, Harriet. I wasn't paying attention."

"That's okay, sir," she replies brightly. I wish I had her enthusiasm. "I was just saying that it must be a little overwhelming being back home."

I smile grimly and nod. It is overwhelming, but not for the reasons she perhaps is thinking. It's overwhelming to think that everything that I have hoped and dreamed for might never be. But I don't say that. I can't say that. Instead, I toss off some lame remark about how everything seems different.

As we leave the terminal, Bud and Harriet in the lead, me following behind carrying AJ, I try not to think about everything that is missing right now. Or who. But then I hear Bud say something. He probably was thinking I wouldn't hear. But I do. And it tears me up inside.

"I'm just sorry Colonel Mackenzie didn't want to join us," Bud said to his wife, softly enough that most people probably wouldn't have heard. But my heart and mind are tuned into her name and what I hear sends all my hopes and dreams crashing back down to earth.

As we walk through the parking lot, I keep going over and over in my mind the reasons why she is not here. Jordan. Her promotion. The awkwardness between us on the USS Patrick Henry. Was it all of them? Or none of them? More than anything else, I wish she was here. Why doesn't she want to see me?

-----

MONDAY  
1110 ZULU  
HARM RABB'S APARTMENT  
NORTH OF UNION STATION  
WASHINGTON D.C.

If my love life were an airplane, it would have suffered a ramp strike this weekend. Not exactly the most comforting thought first thing in the morning as I am preparing for my first day back at JAG, but I'm not really in the mood to be excited about returning back there, not this morning.

You know what I did this weekend, aside from getting my body reacquainted to this time zone, that is? Absolutely nothing, nothing except alternate between staring at the phone, wishing Sarah would call or that I could find the courage to call her, and picking up the phone to leave yet another message on Jordan's answering machine. God, what a mess.

When I had gotten home on Saturday, I had found a note from Sarah on my kitchen counter. No, not Sarah. Mac. She had signed the note 'Mac'. The note itself had been brief and to the point. She had cleaned the apartment and stocked food in the kitchen. That's it. No 'Welcome home', no 'I'll see you'. Nothing. I had crumpled the note in my hand, feeling angry and hurt and I don't know what else. If Bud or Harriet had noticed my darkening mood, neither one of them said a word.

After I had claimed, rather lamely, that I had things to do and the Roberts had left, I began my vigil by the phone. I had stared at it for a long time, wishing she would call, almost willing it to ring. I had contemplated calling her, demanding to know what she meant by cleaning my place and stocking my kitchen, then leaving me with nothing but a brief note. I had needed to ask her why she had cared enough to prepare my apartment for my return, yet hadn't care enough to come to the terminal to welcome an old friend home, even as I had told myself that I didn't think I wanted to hear her answer.

Then, angry with Mac, I had placed the first of what ended up becoming many calls to Jordan, asking – no, almost begging – her to call me. I had told myself that I still cared about her and that it was a good idea for us to try to get back together. But even as I had thought it, a little voice inside my head had insisted that I was just trying to substitute Jordan for Sarah – no, Mac. I had tried to think of her as Mac, tried and had failed.

Now, as I get into my uniform, I try to turn my mind to what I am going to be doing at work today. A couple of hours this morning will be occupied by in-processing at the personnel office at the Washington Navy Yard before I finally head to JAG around ten hundred hours.

That's the moment I am dreading, when I walk back into JAG headquarters for the first time in five months. What kind of reception am I going to get from everyone? Can I face Mac, feeling what I am feeling, now almost sure that she doesn't feel the same?

-----

1110 ZULU  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I toss my briefcase on my desk and sit down with a heavy sigh. Today is Harm's first day back and I don't know how I will feel when I finally see him. This weekend, I had waited for the phone to ring, hoping he would call, at least to thank me for cleaning his place and buying him food. But he never did. I had thought about calling him, wanting to shake some sense into him, needing to know why he didn't care enough to contact me and let me know he was coming home. As the weekend had worn on, I had just about convinced myself that it was obvious that his feelings for me were nowhere near the same as my feelings for him.

Then last night, as I had drifted off to sleep, I had found myself once again contemplating his return and what might have been. Even as I had tried to force the thoughts from my mind as I lay in my cold, lonely bed, I had begun having the most erotic thoughts and fantasies. The dreams of everything I had wanted to be with his return had haunted me, making sleep impossible. After sleeping fitfully most of the night, I had finally gotten frustrated enough to get up and come into work early. To what end, I don't know. It's not like being at JAG, where we have shared so many memories, is going to make me stop thinking about him. I wonder if anything can make me stop doing that?

"Good morning, ma'am. I have that information you requested." Gunny is standing outside my door, a file in his hand. I motion for him to come in, grateful for the chance to concentrate on something else besides lost hope and shattered dreams.

"Thank you, Gunny," I say, taking a quick glance at what he has just handed me, impressed with his thoroughness. Convincing him to forgo his early retirement and come to work at JAG was one of the best decisions I have made as Chief of Staff. Looking up from the file, I see Gunny still standing in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. "Was there something else, Gunny?"

"I just wanted to ask a question, ma'am," he says. "I'm curious about the new lawyer coming in today."

Just great. Gunny would bring up the one topic I am trying my hardest not to think about. I can understand why, though. Gunny likes to get a feel for people before he trusts them. That's why he sandbagged me in court that one time the way he did, because he didn't know if he could trust me to do the right thing with the information he had. Despite the fact that the episode got us off on the wrong foot, it is one of the qualities that I admire most about him. I can definitely understand about not trusting too easily.

Taking a breath, I try to keep my voice neutral as I respond, "Commander Rabb is one of the finest attorneys I have ever met and probably has the most integrity of almost anyone I know. You can trust him." As I say it, my voice softens and memories start replaying in my mind. 

If Gunny notices that I have suddenly developed this faraway look in my eyes, he is professional enough not to comment on it. "Thank you, ma'am," he says, turning to head back to his desk in the bullpen.

Left alone again with my thoughts, I stare at the walls, thinking again of Harm's return, wondering what will happen when he walks through that door. Can I face him, feeling what I feeling, almost sure now that he doesn't feel the same?

-----

1400 ZULU  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

This is worse than I could have ever possibly imagined. I can live with the new Gunny acting like a guard dog and stopping me on my way through the bullpen. After all, he doesn't know me. And Tiner certainly welcomed me back with enthusiasm. But the bottom fell out of everything the second I stepped into the conference room.

Nobody acknowledged my entrance. A few of them looked in my direction, but nobody said anything. They were all laughing and joking about a case Bud and BugMe had been opposing counsel on. As I sit down across from Mac, I feel so left out. The people in this room have always been almost like a family to me and now it is like I am an outsider here.

After that bit of torture is over, I follow the Admiral back to his office. He's going on about the recent 'tail hook' episode. I react modestly as he recounts the incident. I was just doing my job, saving my fellow aviators from enemy fighters and helping them get their damaged aircraft safely back to the carrier. End of story. I may be overly confident at times – many would say arrogant – but I don't spend all my times replaying past accomplishments in my head. Then I get the first bit of happy news I've had since I returned to JAG – I have been nominated to receive my second Distinguished Flying Cross. But the announcement does bring back memories of the first DFC I received. That was the day I met her in the Rose Garden.

Admiral Chegwidden and I sit down in his office and I wonder what mindless task he's going to assign me to first. But he surprises me when he hands me an actual case for me to defend. Not that I think he is petty, as he suggested. When Mac left, she was almost persona non grata as a lawyer around her for a while. I was not expecting anything to be different with me, Distinguished Flying Cross notwithstanding.

I take a quick glance at the file he hands me, a DDO case. Not the most spectacular case in the world, but it's a start. Then the Admiral drops his bombshell. The defendant in my case is the son of the Secretary of Navy. Talk about your hot potatoes. This could be either the best or the worst thing to ever happen to my career. I'm not sure which at this point. I leave the Admiral's office, intently studying the case file.

-----

I am in Mic's office, going over some information on his computer, thankful for something to take my mind off the staff meeting. I can't think about it now, how lost and out of place Harm seemed. He looked so sad and hurt and confused – and lost. Most of all lost. I just wanted to take him aside and reassure him that everything was going to be okay, that he had a place here at JAG, anything to comfort him and keep his mind away from the possibility to leaving again. If I could survive my return, he can survive his.

Oh, no, I think as I look up to find Harm standing in the doorway, that lost and confused look on his face again. He then turns and looks up to the nameplate over the door, seeing Mic's name where his used to be. I feel so bad for him again. At least I hadn't been gone long enough for someone to have taken my place. I can't begin to imagine what he is feeling right now. I just wish I knew a way to make it better for him.

"Sorry," he says, "force of habit." I can't help but look at him with sympathy in my eyes. My anger over his lack of communication this weekend has completely dissipated as I rack my brain, trying to think of something to say to erase that look in his eyes, the one that says 'What am I doing here? I don't belong.'

"No worries, mate," Mic says, completely oblivious to Harm's discomfort, not that I really expected anything different. "You're next door to Mac now."

He nods to Mic as an automatic gesture of courtesy then looks my way. We lock gazes for a moment as he finally greets me, but it is far from the greeting that I had wanted or expected. "Colonel," he says neutrally, his voice betraying nothing.

"Commander," I return the greeting, just as neutrally. "I was just coming to see you."

He doesn't acknowledge this as he glances around the office, his eyes taking in all the changes. This has got to be so hard for him. I can hear it in his voice as he says quietly, "They painted in here. I could never get them to paint."

Mic laughs, a bit smugly in my opinion, as he replies, "All in the way you ask, I guess." I want to shake him for his insensitivity. Can he possibly be that completely blind to how much Harm is hurting? Or am I the only one who sees it? Even after all this time apart, am I so in tune to him that I can read his moods and gestures with only the smallest hints and clues?

I can see that Harm is thinking of Mic as an insensitive brute too in the look he gives him. He then looks at me, but I can only look for a moment before I have to look away, wishing I could say something, wishing there was something to say. I want more than anything to erase the pain in his eyes.

Mic stands and turns the topic to work. I guess we all need the distraction at this point. "Oh, I understand you're defending Leftenant Nelson," he says. Maybe this is what Harm needs, to concentrate on work instead of all these changes around him.

He nods, the mask of neutrality slipping over his face again. "That's right," he says.

Then Mic has to go and get a shot in at Harm and I wish I had something to throw at him. "If you lose, Harm," he points out, "you'll always be known as the man who let the SecNav's son go to prison."

"Well, you'll be the guy who put him there, Brumby," he shoots back, making a clucking noise. I want to cheer. That sounds like the old Harm I know, the one who never took anything from anyone. He winks at me then leaves for his own office.

I look at Mic and shake my head, having managed to control my impulse to hit him with something. But right now I don't care about Brumby. I have to talk to Harm.

-----

I can't believe I managed to get through that little exchange. Everything has become so turned around and twisted that I don't even recognize anything around here anymore. Not even my best friend. When I first saw her in there, leaning so close to Mic, it cut through me. That should be me sitting in there, Mac standing over my shoulder as we go over our cases together. She's my partner, damn it. I guess I am learning why they say 'You can't go home again'. First, flying didn't turn out as I had expected and now this. I'm wondering if I really belong anywhere anymore. I haven't felt like this since that time just after my crash, when I was recovering up at my grandmother's farm, restoring my airplane.

I walk into the office that Brumby said was mine to find Bud packing his things into a box. I wish he had told me on Saturday that it was his office I was taking over. Then I probably would have contacted the Admiral and tried to arrange something different. Maybe I could have convinced him to let me have my old office back. That would have served BugMe just right.

As Bud finishes gathering his things, I pick up the phone to call Jordan again. As badly as things have gone here this morning, I think I need to find something familiar to hold onto. As I hear her answering machine pick up yet again, I look up to see Mac and Bud nearly collide in the office doorway. She suggests that I finish my call. Indicating that I will be with her in a moment, I leave another message for Jordan, asking her to call me. I can see Mac looking away, shifting nervously on her feet. She looks just as uncomfortable as I feel. I guess I really was expecting too much when I thought that she might welcome me home the way I really wanted her to.

Trying to keep my voice devoid of any emotion, I say, "Colonel."

"Out there it's Colonel," she tells me. "In here it's Mac." I sense she is trying to put my mind at ease, but what's the point? What difference is what I call her going to make? I look at her and try to smile and she smiles back, but it's just so. . . .awkward. I can't remember it being like this since Arizona. Hell, Arizona was much better than this. At least then I didn't have my memories of how things used to be.

She breaks the leaden silence between us first, sighing as she says, "So how's it feel being back?"

I shrug, "Like I left yesterday." I pause, then add sadly, "And I've been gone a hundred years." I don't know why I just told her that. I guess I'm finding it hard to break my habit of confiding in my best friend. Why can't this be any easier?

She grimaces slightly as she replies, "Yeah, I know the feeling." As she sits down, she tries to lighten the moment by adding, "Except, you know, when I came back I was condemned to writing mindless motions for a month."

"And now you're the Admiral's Chief of Staff," I point out. It took her nearly a year and a half to get from there to here. Is that how long it's going to take me? Is that how long it will be before I start to feel comfortable here, around her?

She seems a bit embarrassed as she qualifies, "Not officially." I don't know why she would feel embarrassed. I don't begrudge her the successes she's had. I'm not petty.

She takes a breath, almost as if she's bracing herself. Then, with two sentences, she manages to lift my spirits then send me crashing back down to earth. "Are you free for lunch? Brumby and I are going to grab a bite," she tells me.

Is she kidding? What could possibly be going through her mind that she would suggest I have lunch with her and BugMe. Why doesn't she just hand me a knife and I'll slit my throat, thank you very much? The last thing I in the world I need is to spend my lunch feeling sick as I watch her cozy up to that. . . .that smug Australian. Thankfully, I have a legitimate excuse for bowing out. "Bud and I have to go to Norfolk," I reply, unable to keep the relief from creeping into my voice.

She looks disappointed, but I don't understand why. What was she thinking? She sounds upset as she suggests, "Well, maybe another time."

I look down at my desk, trying to think of a way to end this conversation quickly and with as little pain as possible. I really don't want to have this discussion. I look back at her and answer, "Sure." Yeah, right. Maybe when hell freezes over.

She must have heard it in my voice. Walking out, she echoes my answer under her breath, the disbelief in her voice. She knows that I don't like Brumby. If she does, I don't care, I just don't want her flaunting it in my face. Maybe if I tell myself that I don't care enough times, I will begin to believe it.

-----

THE NEXT DAY  
1805 ZULU  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

After that fiasco in his office yesterday, it surprised the hell out of me that I managed to get Harm to agree to have a late lunch with me today. When I think back to that conversation, I can't believe myself. If I had been him, I wouldn't have agreed either. What in the world had possessed me to suggest a lunch with me and Brumby? Unfortunately, I already know the answer to that one. I was hoping to make him jealous, to force his hand. Then I flash back on the awkward scene in Mic's office shortly before that and I realize that jealousy is the furthest thing from his mind right now. Right now, he is just hurting too much.

Desperate to make amends, wanting to do anything to lift his spirits, I am determined to make today's lunch a success. As we walk out to the courtyard carrying our lunches, we discuss my promotion. After his reaction on the Patrick Henry when he first found out, I am surprised that he would pick this as a topic of conversation, but when he comments on the way I handled a recent case, it occurs to me that he does sounds happy for me and maybe just a little bit proud, too. I just wish he could have been here with me to share in my glory. He even manages to look a little apologetic when I tease him about all the cases I got stuck with after he left. Is he sorry that he left me? Probably best not to think about that right now. We seem to be off to a better start today. Maybe we can just forget yesterday ever happened.

As we begin eating, I turn the discussion back to him and his return to flying. "What about you? Did you find what you were looking for out there in the wild blue yonder?" I keep my tone light, but there is an intensity behind the question. I need to know that he really wants to be here.

He nods, but he looks far from thrilled. Somehow, I don't think it's the question that bothers him so much as the answer. "Yeah," he replies softly. He pauses for a moment, that lost look that I have seen so much the past day and a half in his eyes. He then adds, "Eight years too late. Not much of a career left for me in aviation at this point."

"Yeah, but you knew that before you went back," I point out. I don't mean it to sound like a shot at him. I do understand why he had to go back. I just wish he sounded more sure about coming back.

"Well, maybe I thought I could beat the odds." Even as he says it, I can tell that he knows deep down it was a losing cause even as he embarked on it.

I take a breath and ask the one question that I most want to hear the answer to. "So, what's next?"

He looks away for a moment as he sips his coffee, almost as if he doesn't want to answer the question. Finally, he looks back at me and answers, "JAG." As he leans closer to me, he begins to sound even more sure of himself and his answer, but I can tell that he's not completely there yet. "Guess I had to leave to, well, you know, figure out how much I like this place."

I'm not sure how to respond. I want to say something, anything, to make him feel better about coming back. I want him to know that I am there for him if he needs to talk, a shoulder to lean on, anything. But I can't seem to find the right words.

-----

I know that she's not completely happy with my answer. Neither am I. But how do I explain everything that I am feeling right now. Right now, I need her to tell me that everything will be fine, that she will help me settle back into my life here. But the words I want to hear don't come. Even if she could find the answers for me, anything she might say is interrupted by BugMe's untimely arrival.

"Colonel," he greets her. He then looks at me, almost as if he is just now realizing that I am here. I resist the urge to hit him. "Commander," he finally greets me. I am annoyed that he is here, interrupting what had been a halfway decent conversation, even given the current unanswered questions between us. Mac, I can't tell what she is thinking.

Forcing myself to be polite, I indicate the empty seat at out table as I suggest, "Brumby, have a seat."

Thankfully, he says he can't stay. Maybe he's smart enough to realize how much I do not want him here interrupting my time with Mac. But he's not going away either. "I had an interesting chat with Commander Burke," he tells me. I already know where this is going. I also had a chat with Burke. "You know he's willing to drop the charges."

I look up at him for a moment. Does he really think I am just going to walk away and allow him his victory. As I look away, I say firmly, "We're not interested." I wonder if they realize that I'm not just talking about the case.

He laughs and I have to again resist the urge to wipe that smug look off his face. "Well, why in the bloody hell not?"

Okay, maybe he's not as smart as I thought. I spell it out for him. "We don't like the conditions."

"Well, is that your client's position or yours?" Now he's questioning whether I have my client's best interests at heart? Buxton's court-martial notwithstanding, he obviously doesn't remember what kind of attorney I am, what kind of man.

"His position is my position," I answer firmly. As far as I am concerned, that is the end of this discussion. Now, if he will just get the hint and leave.

Finally, he nods. "All right," he says. "I'll see you in court." He then winks at Mac as he departs. "Colonel."

Mac looks at me and I can see the question in her eyes. Just great.

"It's under control," I say. I just wish it really were.

I can see she doesn't believe me any more than I believe myself as she mutters, "Yeah." Wonderful. Things had not been going too badly and after one unwelcome visit from BugMe, even she is questioning me. I've just lost my appetite.

-----

THE NEXT DAY  
1400 ZULU  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I am getting a headache. Harm, Mic, Bud and I are all in the Admiral's office discussing the Nelson court-martial. It didn't take long the said discussion to turn into a full-fledged shouting match between Harm and Mic. I just don't understand Harm right now. He can be passionate about his cases; it's one of the qualities I most admire about him. But this isn't passion. It's bullheadedness, plain and simple. I can't remember Harm ever sounding like this, except maybe right before we ended up on the USS Watertown. Then again, at the time, I was being just as stubborn and argumentative.

I just want this to end so I can crawl back to my office and take some aspirin. "Admiral, I don't see a settlement here," I cut in. "I see a battle of wills between two pigheaded sailors."

Well, that shut both of them up. They give me identical looks of astonishment. Who, them, pigheaded? I resist the urge to snort and add quickly, "Referring, of course, to Lieutenant Nelson and Commander Burke." I can see neither of them believes me.

"Well, there is one thing we agree on, Sir," Harm tells the Admiral.

I can almost hear the weariness in his voice as he asks, "And what is that, Commander?" Given that this is SecNav's son, Admiral Chegwidden probably just wishes this case would go away.

"There will be a trial," Harm says firmly.

Damn pigheaded sailor. Do we really need to go through all this? As I think it, I realize that it is not the case that I am thinking about.

-----

2215 ZULU  
JAG HEADQUARTERS  
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Ever have one of those days where you wish you could just turn back time and start the day over? Today definitely qualifies for me. Things went from bad to worse as the day progressed. First, there was that debacle in the Admiral's office. Then court, which was nowhere near what I would call a success. Finally, I had to witness the spectacularly unsuccessful meeting between my client and his father. I may not like the SecNav and I know he feels the same about me, but I did feel sorry for him in there. He was trying his hardest to reach out to his son, but Lieutenant Nelson wasn't buying. Then again, I have too many father-son issues of my own. I am probably not the most objective person on the subject.

As I head back to my office, Gunny hands me some information I had requested. That man has been a godsend during this trial, turning up all kinds of useful information. Mac made a good decision when she convinced him to come on board. He could give Bud a run for his money in the research department.

Great, this is all I need, I think as I walk into my office to find Mac waiting for me. It's getting late and I just want to get out of here and forget this day ever happened. Hell, after the fiasco yesterday at lunch with Mac and last night with Jordan, I'd like to forget the last two days happened. I don't think this can be anything but unpleasant. With the first words out of her mouth, I am proven right.

"The old Harm would have gone for Burke's jugular," she points out. Et tu, Brute?

As I sit down, I respond, a bit exasperated, "Not you too."

She mimics how she thinks I should have questioned Burke. I don't want to hear this. "Come on, Harm," she insists. "You know how to do it."

"Oh, the media'd love that," I reply sarcastically. "'Ship's Captain rattled during emergency, blames junior officer.'"

She sounds exasperated as she shoots back, "You're supposed to be worrying about your client's image, not Commander Burke's."

"Look, if we're going to make the law our lives, we have two choices," I insist. Yeah, I'm a fine one to be lecturing her on making the law our life. "Respect it or manipulate it."

Forcefully, she retorts, "Your client still takes priority. If you can't see that, I can recommend Bud take over the case."

Angrily, I respond, "Well, that won't be necessary, Colonel. But just do we're clear, I will not destroy one good man to save another. Not while there are alternatives."

Just as angry, she gets up to leave, getting in one last shot before she does, "And when the alternatives run out, Commander?"

The worst part of all this, I realize as I sit alone in my office, is that I know she is right. I have screwed this up royally. I just don't know how to fix it. And I'm not just talking about the case.

-----

What is going on with him? I wonder as I sit alone in my own office. I don't recognize the man I just left in Harm's office. I know this has got to be hard for him coming back. He hasn't exactly received the warmest reception on record. Hell, when I came back, Harm welcomed me with open arms, going to bat for me with the Admiral. Not that he was exactly in the Admiral's good graces at the time, but that's another story.

I can't believe that he's bungling a case that a rookie lawyer could argue in his or her sleep. Somehow, I suspect it is more than just the case, but I don't want to ask. At this point, I don't want to know. I'm afraid that after the last few days, he is really regretting his decision to come back to JAG.

It's not his abilities as a lawyer I doubt. Hell, he got Buxton off, didn't he? The way he argued that case, the passion he put into it, even when he found it personally distasteful, that is the Harmon Rabb I know. It's like the old Harm, the one I know and. . . .care about, is still gone and some stranger wearing his face is wandering the halls of JAG in his place.

As the thought crosses my mind, I make a mental note to myself to check and make sure Clark Palmer is still in Leavenworth and I laugh weakly. I wish it could be something as simple as that. But I know that isn't it and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it.

-----

ONE WEEK LATER

1400 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Harm still seems like he's having trouble finding his way back at JAG, but it's nice to know some things still haven't changed. He has just walked into the staff meeting late. That squid still has no sense of time. As he makes his excuses to the Admiral, I move towards my seat but the Admiral suddenly calls, "Attention to orders." As I snap to attention, along with everyone else in the room, I wonder just what is going on.

I doesn't take long to figure it out as the Admiral starts reading from what looks like an award citation. Like everyone else, I had heard about the stunt with the tail hook which saved the lives of Harm's wingman and his RIO. We'd all even heard rumors that he was going to get another Distinguished Flying Cross out of it. Looks like the scuttlebutt in this particular case is true.

As the Admiral continues, I can't help but think back three years to another award ceremony, another Distinguished Flying Cross. I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. That was the day I had first laid eyes on Harmon Rabb, Jr. I can still remember everything – every word, every gesture, the look in his eyes when he first saw me. There were sparks there from the very first, at least on my part. I wasn't sure about him at the time. I couldn't comprehend the look in his eyes, the feeling of déjà vu he admitted to. It was more than a year before I knew the reason, before I knew about Diane.

After that, after he managed to find some closure concerning her death, I thought things – had changed between us. In Russia, when we had no one to depend on but each other, we seemed to be closer than ever. When I was court-martialed for murdering my husband, Harm stood by me, even though I had hurt him with my omissions. On the USS Watertown, it was like we were in perfect synch with each other towards the end, working together in a fight for our lives. When he revived me and pulled me into his arms, I didn't want to let go. I wanted to hold on forever. But then he returned to the air and every dream I thought we could have shared left with him.

Outwardly, despite the turmoil in my soul, I manage to remain impassive as the Admiral finishes the citation and pins the medal on Harm's coat. Then I hear the Admiral say something about me doing the honors and it takes a moment for what he is requesting to sink in. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I walk up to Harm. God, I hope no one can see how my knees are shaking.

Harm gives me a half smile as he teases softly, "Gently, Marine." Can he see how much I want this?

I hold onto him to steady myself as I press my lips to his cheek. As I pull away, a charged look briefly passes between us and I force myself to turn away and head for my seat.

-----

I can't help but look at Mac as she walks away from me. When she held onto me and her lips touched me, I had to force myself to remain still, not to react. I wanted so much to take her into my arms, to forget everyone else in the room with us. But I can't do that. Too damn much has happened. We're not the same people we were six months ago, not the same people who met in that Rose Garden all those years ago.

The Rose Garden. I remember everything that happened that day with perfect clarity. I remember the stunned feeling when I first saw her, looking so much Diane that I could barely string two words together in a coherent thought. There were several more moments when I would look at Mac and see Diane, but it didn't take long for me to see her as her own person, one worthy of my respect, my friendship, my. . . .

Once I thought there could have been more than just friendship between us. When we were in Russia, Mac did so much for me, came farther on my behalf than anyone. When I was facing court-martial for murder, she was unhesitating in her support, even when the evidence was stacked against me. On the Watertown, even after we had been fighting, when we were both injured, she became my voice and I became her eyes as we fought for our lives. Then when Hodge tried to strangle her and after I had to bring her back, I took her into my arms and I never wanted to let her go. But then I returned to flying and every dream we might have shared was left behind with her.

This was why I didn't want to do this, to have this ceremony. I knew that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from thinking of before, of the first Distinguished Flying Cross that had been the beginning for us. I force myself to turn away from her and back to the Admiral.

"Sir, I'm flattered," I say, "also a little confused. I believe I requested no ceremony be conducted."

"Yeah, I ignored it," he answers as he takes his seat.

Can't he see how hard this is for me? Doesn't he know about all the memories this brings back for me? I have to force myself to pay attention as he briefs me on my latest case. As he's doing so, he hands me his handkerchief, gesturing that I have lipstick on my cheek.

As I wipe it off, I look again at Mac, but she looks down at the table. Is she blushing? It's so hard to tell what she is thinking. Didn't this used to be easier?

As the Admiral moves on to other cases, I can't help but tune everything out but her. I wish I could talk to her about this, but this isn't the right time. Will there ever be a right time for us?

My attention is unwillingly drawn back to the meeting when Brumby speaks up. I'd almost forgotten that he was even here.

"Sir, might I request the prosecution on this one?" he asks the Admiral.

"What, see an easy score here, Commander?" the Admiral counters.

"Not at all, Sir," he replies. "Just an opportunity to lock horns with a worthy adversary."

My eyes still on Mac, I see her smile and it hits me like a ton of bricks. This is her case they are discussing and she seems to welcome the attention that BugMe is paying her. I can't help the pain I'm feeling; I just hope no one else notices the jealous feeling that I can't seem to bury down inside.

The Admiral is right when he points out Brumby's enthusiasm. It's almost nauseating the way he chases after her. I really need to get out of here. Fortunately, the Admiral concludes the meeting and we are all free to leave.

As I hand the handkerchief back to him, I reiterate for the Admiral my feelings about the ceremony, telling him that I had been hoping to avoid reminders of my aviation career so that everyone could see how committed I am to JAG. That is true, as far as that goes. It's just not my only reason.

"Clear to me," he responds. "Anyone confused by the Commander's feelings?"

I can't help but smile sadly as I head for the door and wait for Mac. At least one person here seems to be confused by my feelings. Why else would she encouraging Brumby's attentions?

I know she's right when she points out that I'm overcompensating. But it's not just because of the upheaval returning to JAG was brought into my life. I just don't know where I stand and I wish to God I did.

"There'll be a period of adjustment for all of us," she tries to reassure me. "My suggestion is don't push it. You know, let it happen. We'll get the rhythm back."

Will we? I wish I could believe that, but I don't see a place for me in her life right now. She has Brumby now, apparently. What does she need me for?

I can't help getting a shot in at him. "Well, Brumby certainly dances to your beat," I point out.

"And by that you mean?" she counters. She almost sounds upset, but why would that be?

"He's still on your scent," I reply, pointing out the obvious.

"We're friends," she insists.

Yeah, right. Like she and I are just friends? I don't think so, not after the reaction I saw in the briefing. "No man is interested in being friends with a woman who looks like you," I say, but she simply responds with a dirty look.

I continue, "Well, except for me, of course, because, you know, I'm like a brother, but the point is you encourage him." Why the hell did I say that? My feelings are hardly brotherly for her; I've told her as much before. But she can't seem to recognize that.

-----

Damn him, I think. Brumby and I are just friends. Harm's the one that my feelings are more than friendly for. Why can't he see that? And why did he have to come off with that crack about being like a brother? I question how he thinks I am encouraging Brumby.

"How!" he counters, almost as if he thinks it should be obvious. "He says he wants to lock horns with you, you smile."

I have a hard time keeping the frustration out of my voice as I respond, "Well, what should I have done? Ordered him to drop and give me fifty?"

Harm answers quietly, disappointment in his voice, "You like him."

What the hell does it matter to him? Isn't he the one who just told me that he was like a brother to me? At this point, I can't keep the anger out of my voice as I say, "You haven't been here in six months, so the fine points of my relationships with anyone are lost on you." Yeah, most of all the fine points of my relationship with him. Well, he made his feelings clear with the "brother" comment. Now, it's my turn.

"And, you know," I continue angrily, "when it comes to my relationships, you are not necessarily on a need to know basis."

He nods and responds sarcastically, "Yes, Ma'am." For a moment, our gazes lock and what I see in his eyes makes me want to take back everything I just said, but he just turns and walks away from me – from us – shaking his head.

-----

Oh, God, what did I just do? I think as I return to my own office. It's almost as if a door just slammed in my face. How did this happen? I said, she said, I said. Does she really feel that way, or was she just reacting to what I had said? I wish I knew.

I also wish I could take back that "brother" comment. I can't believe I said that, but her feelings for Brumby seem so clear to me, so I guess I have no choice but to walk away. I have no choice but to settle for less than what I want.

A part of me wants to go back in there and remind her of another comment, one the exact opposite of the foolish remark I just made in her office -

_"Harm, I know this is like dancing with your sister, but maybe you could pretend to like it," she had told me as we danced together at the NATO ball several years ago. It was not long after we'd met and the reality of my growing feelings for her were just beginning to sink in._

_"Mac, I don't think of you as my sister," I had replied honestly. I'm still not sure what had possessed me to say it, but it's one of the truest statements I've ever made._

_"You don't?"_

_"No, I don't."_

How much I wish I could go back in time, before I foolishly left JAG without carefully considering all the ramifications of that decision, the personal as well as the professional. I wish I could go back to when I seemed so sure that there could be more between us than just the bonds of friendship.

-----

0024 ZULU

SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, DC

What happened between Harm and me today? At first, he seemed to slam the door closed on the possibility of a more intimate relationship between us, but as we looked at each other before he left my office, I couldn't help but wonder if the door was truly closed. He said he only thinks of me as a sibling, but I remember another time, another place, another reality –

_"Harm, I know this is like dancing with your sister, but maybe you could pretend to like it," I had told him. I knew I'd had strong feelings for him almost from the beginning, but after the awkwardness of our initial meeting, I couldn't help but wonder sometimes if he could ever look at me like I wanted him to. If he would ever look at him without seeing her._

_"Mac, I don't think of you as my sister," he had replied and I couldn't help the hope that surged through me at his words._

_"You don't?"_

_"No, I don't."_

But which statement reflects his true feelings? What does he really feel for me at this moment in time? My heart and mind are in a quandary as I go to answer the door.

A part of me is disappointed that it's only Mic, but I invite him in anyway. The other part of me realizes that I need something to keep my mind off Harm. But my mind refuses to stray off that topic. First, Mic has to say that he brought salads for us. That's something Harm would eat.

Then, as we sit down on the couch to discuss our case, I can't help but remember the numerous times that it was Harm and me sitting down to dinner and a case file, either at my place or his. How many times had we had evenings just like this?

Mic starts flirting with me and I can't help but respond, just a little. I have to admit that it is nice to have a man pay attention to me like that. I just wish it were the right man.

That point is brought home in vivid color when Mic leans in to kiss me. Suddenly, I realize that I'm substituting and that isn't fair to Mic. He's been nothing but nice to me. It's not his fault that he's not Harm. "Mic," I say softly, "I'm not ready for this." I'm not ready to give up on that door possibly remaining open between Harm and me.

"That's alright," he tells me, but I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He just doesn't realize that this is for his own good. He deserves better than what I can give him right now.

-----

2225 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIGINIA

"I'll copy that, Bud," I say, hoping he'll get the hint and leave Mac and me alone. I have to do something to make up for my thoughtlessness and stupidity yesterday.

Fortunately, Bud does take the hint and says, "Okay, Sir," before walking off, leaving Mac and me alone at the copy machine. This probably isn't the best place for this conversation, but I'm not sure at this point that she would consent to speak with me alone.

"Um, you were right," I begin hesitantly as I wish I were better at stuff like this. "I was imposing my opinion of Brumby onto yours." I mentally cross my fingers, hoping she'll recognize the apology in my words and voice and give me another chance.

"Don't worry about it," she says, but I'm not sure what she's thinking. Is she truly accepting my apology or does she just not want to talk about it? I need to find out.

"No, I mean, I should believe you," I continue. "I think you know how you feel. Besides, you and Brumby have no chemistry, so I'm sorry. Okay?" I probably shouldn't have added that last part, but I don't know how else to say it. I hold my breath waiting for her response.

"Sure," she says. But she doesn't sound completely sure. And she doesn't say any more. I have no indication of what she is feeling.

"Okay," I say. This could have gone better, I realize. But at least she's not angry with me anymore. At least, I don't think she is. That may be the best I can hope for at this point.

-----

How many times have I heard Harmon Rabb use those words in all the time I've known him? I'm sorry. I can probably count the number of times on one hand. But what is he truly sorry about? I wonder as I go back into my office.

Is it his remarks about Brumby? I know they've never gotten along. I don't think Harm ever really forgave him for his treatment of me during my court-martial. Even if I've managed to get past it, he never has.

What about his "brother" remark? Maybe he has realized that he isn't just like a brother to me. I wish he would just tell me that.

The thing that scares me most is that it might be neither of those things that he is sorry for. What if he's sorry that he ever came back to JAG? I don't know if I could take that.

I'm not angry at him anymore. In his own fashion, he did apologize. That may be the best I can hope for at this point.

-----

TWO WEEKS LATER

1317 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Everything finally seems to be settling back down into a normal routine around here. Harm seems to be slowly getting his rhythm back and so do we. I'm finally beginning to feel like I just might have my best friend back.

For the first time since Harm's return, we are paired on a case together. True, we are on opposing sides, but it feels so good just to be working with him again. Our usual banter is still absent but there is none of the tension or arguments of the last few weeks either. We may not be completely relaxed in each others' presence yet, but we are definitely moving in the right direction.

I'm on the phone when Harm knocks on my open office door, a folded document in his hand. I motion him into the office then return to my conversation, feeling better than I have in weeks.

"I can't come up this weekend, sweetheart," I say regretfully into the phone as Harm waits patiently for me to finish. "Maybe at Christmas."

"So," Chloe asks me, her voice full of hope, "are you dating that bodacious Harmon Rabb yet?"

Oh, God. I know Chloe is convinced – not without cause, I have to admit – that I am in love with Harm. But did she have to ask me that with him standing right here in front of me, watching me with knowing eyes? Of course, she doesn't know that. Hell, if she did know that he was here, she'd probably still ask anyway. That's my Chloe.

I try my hardest not to blush as I glance at Harm, wondering if he can see how I am affected – by his presence and by Chloe's question. I look down as I tell Chloe, "Uh, no. No, actually, that really would not be appropriate." But I can't help wishing that I could answer the question differently.

"Hey," Chloe continues, oblivious to my discomfort, "I had a dream last night that the two of you got married and I was your flower girl."

How I wish that particular dream would come true, but the events of the last few weeks have left too many doubts in my mind that it will ever come to pass. The regret I feel sneaks into my voice as I reply sadly, "Not all dreams come true." I force myself to be more cheerful as I add, "Look, I'll talk to you this weekend, okay?"

"Love you," Chloe says.

"I love you, too, Chloe," I say wistfully. "Bye." Sadly, I hang up the phone and turn my attention to the man waiting patiently. I have to try and forget all these feelings that the conversation with Chloe brings forth in my mind. Even as the thought occurs to me, I know in my heart that it will be a losing battle.

-----

I feel better than I have since I came back to JAG. I finally feel like I am settling back into my old life here. What was it Mac had said about getting our rhythm back? She was right. I'm finally getting it back and so are we. I am pleased that I finally seem to be getting my best friend back.

For the first time since I came back, we are paired on a case together. We are on opposing sides, but it feels so good just to be working with her again. The usual banter between us is still not there, but neither is the tension or arguments of the last few weeks. We may not be completely relaxed in each others' presence yet, but we are definitely moving in the right direction.

Listening to her on the phone, I can't help the jealous feeling as I listen to her, obviously missing whoever she is talking to. Why couldn't she have missed me like that? I try to bury the thought, telling myself to be content that our friendship is returning. Is she blushing? I wonder what is being said on the other end of that line that could cause that kind of reaction in her.

I breathe a sigh of relief when she finally says the name of the person she is talking to and I realize that it is just Chloe. But that gets me wondering anew what Chloe said to cause Mac to blush and avert her eyes away from me. I recall another comment of Chloe's that made Mac blush once upon a time. . . .

_"Commander Rabb, Mac's told me all about you. In fact, you're all she talks about."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah, although sometimes it's hard to tell what parts are true and what parts are just – well, you know – her fantasies."_

Was Chloe right? Does Mac fantasize about me? Were they talking about me just now? It would certainly explain the blush I thought I saw and her embarrassed look as she averted her eyes. What I wouldn't give to know the truth, to know if she feels the same way that I do.

As Mac finishes her conversation and looks up at me, I smile at her. "How is your little sister, anyway?" I ask.

"Wonderful," she says, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But ever since she found her real family, I don't get to see her that much."

I would like to comfort her, the way I used to always do. I lean cross her desk, hoping that my presence can provide some kind of comfort, that she will realize that she can confide in me.

"I miss her, Harm," she says. She sounds so sad and I can't help but think of the last time Chloe was here and how sad she was when Chloe left. And that brings up another memory of a promise made. . . .

_"Five years from this moment, if neither of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid."_

The memory brings a warm feeling to my heart as I ponder, not for the first time since that spring day, what a child of ours would be like. One thing I am sure of. Mac will make a wonderful mother for our child. I've seen her with Chloe and I've seen her with our godson.

That thought is foremost in my mind when I ask her, "Anybody ever tell you you have great maternal instincts?"

"Not as often as they tell me I have a great karate chop," she jokes and we smile at each other. It's a nice moment that continues as we discuss our case. It's almost like days of old as we go back and forth about the case and the possibility of a plea agreement. I even catch a hint of the old banter as she laughs, teasing me about dreaming that she would go along with my plea demands.

As I leave her office, telling her confidently that I can do better than her plea suggestion by winning the case, I feel better than I have at any time since returning from the Patrick Henry.

-----

TEN DAYS LATER

2335 ZULU

THE ROBERTS' RESIDENCE

ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

Following Bud's harrowing adventures aboard a hijacked submarine, Harriet insists that Harm and I come to dinner at their place. It's so nice to have a chance to relax with friends away from the office and all the pressures there. The purpose of the evening is threefold, according to Harriet – celebrate Bud's safe return, honor Harm for his part in the resolution of the situation and a chance for little AJ to spend time with his godparents.

It's reason number three that is foremost in my mind right now as I watch Harm play with little AJ while Bud runs that train that Harm got for him around the tracks. Harriet is putting the finishing touches on dinner while I stand at the entrance to the kitchen, conversing with Harriet, while watching the action in the living room.

As I watch Harm bounce AJ on his knee and makes airplane noises, much to the baby's delight, I can't help but think back to that warm spring day when that little boy first came into our lives.

_"Five years from this moment, if neither of us is in a relationship, we'll go halves on a kid."_

At first, I thought he was joking, but he was serious and after a brief moment, so was I. I had just said goodbye to my little sister again and I was missing her terribly. Plus, we were caught up in the thrill of watching little AJ make his entrance into this world. But as I watch Harm entertain our little godson, I am reminded of one of the reasons I agreed to what many would probably view as a crazy promise.

Not long ago, Harm asked if anyone had ever told me that I have great maternal instincts. Now, I wonder idly if anyone has told him that he has great paternal instincts. Harm will make a wonderful father for our child. He seems like such a natural with AJ. And I remember seeing how good he was with Josh Pendry several years ago, back when he was dating Josh's mother.

As I stand there and watch Harm and AJ, a smile on my face, Harriet joins me and she watches for a moment also, a matching smile on her face.

"It's wonderful having the Commander back, isn't it, ma'am?" she says. "Sorry, I mean Mac." Harm and I had already both insisted on being called by our first names when we first arrived this evening.

"Yes, it is," I reply. I can't help feeling so relaxed this evening. After over a month of tension and missteps, everything seems to have finally fallen into place.

"He's so wonderful with AJ," Harriet continues, smiling as Harm, a smile on his own face, catches sight of us and waves AJ's hand in our direction.

Yes, he is, I tell myself. And he'll be just as wonderful with our child someday.

-----

After dinner, where Mac and I spent as many comfortable moments laughing with each other at little AJ's antics as Harriet fed him as we did enjoying each others' company, we all adjourned to the living room where Mac and Harriet are now playing with AJ on the floor while Bud and I make small talk as we watch the scene in front of us. It's so nice to have a chance to relax with friends away from the office and all the pressures there.

I can't help the smile on my face as I watch Mac hold AJ on her lap, holding in front of him the stuffed bear we both bought for him. I am reminded again, as I was not long ago, of what a great mother Mac is going to make someday and of our promise to have a child together.

Bud, a smile on his own face as he watches his little boy, says, "It's good to have you back, Sir – I mean, Harm. It wasn't the same without you around here."

"It's good to be back," I reply with a sincerity I feel for the first time since my return. For the first time, I feel that I truly am back.

"She's really good with AJ, isn't she?" he asks. It's almost as if he knows what is holding my attention. She chooses that moment to look up at us and smile, pointing at us to draw AJ's attention in our direction.

Yes, she is, I tell myself. And she'll be just as wonderful with our child someday.

-----

26 NOVEMBER

0010 ZULU

MCMURPHY'S TAVERN

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

I should be thrilled, I tell myself as I nurse my second – or is it my third – beer of the night. I'm not keeping track. I don't want to keep track. Maybe I can drink enough to get me drunk. Then maybe I can forget just how terrible my life has been the last few weeks. What am I saying? The last few months is more like it.

I thought things had been getting better. During Admiral Spencer's court-martial, everything finally seemed to be settling down, I finally seemed to be getting back into the groove at JAG. And finally, I didn't feel like I was on pins and needles every time Mac and I were in a room together.

Then, Mac and I went to Panama. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what actually happened. The Admiral assigned Mac the lead on the investigation. He asked if it bothered me and I assured him that it didn't. But I don't know, maybe it did deep down. I don't know if she was assigned the lead because she outranked me or because we were investigating Marines. Maybe both. But I never expected her to throw our difference in rank in my face. Nor did I expect her to act like she was jealous because of the attention that Olivia Dunston was paying me. I'd like to believe that she was jealous, I'd like to believe that she really does care for me like that. But after everything that's happened, I don't know what to believe anymore.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" a familiar voice asks me. I look over at Mac and smile wanly, gesturing to the empty seat across the table from me. She sits and looks at me and the beer bottle in my hand, trying to appear nonchalant about it. She's never begrudged my taking an occasional drink, but I still try to limit my drinking around her. With a soft sigh, I push the half-empty bottle away from me.

We sit together for a long moment, an uncomfortable silence stretching between us, before Mac finally says, "Congratulations on your promotion."

I shrug as I reply simply, "Thank you."

"You don't seem too happy about it," she says. "Then again, I guess after everything that's happened this week. . . ." She looks up at me and trails off.

I guess it must be obvious from the look on my face that I don't really want to talk about this week's events. Not with anyone, but especially not with her. Even after everything that's happened the last six months, I would have thought that she would have stood behind me during my recent troubles.

When I asked her to act as my lawyer, she passed, saying that she was informed she would be a potential prosecution witness. But that wasn't what bothered me about the whole situation. Nor was it her lame attempt at joking about my situation that got to me. What bothered me is that when I needed help clearing my name, she was nowhere to be found. Sure, she was busy with her own case, but I would at least have thought she would have been there for moral support. After my Article 32 hearing for murder and after Russia and after all the times I have been there for her, I would have thought that was the least I could expect from the person I consider to be my best friend. I don't want to think that things have deteriorated that far between us that I can no longer be assured of her support. I can't believe that.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to push aside those concerns for now. "I just feel that I nearly sold my soul to the devil to get out from under these charges."

"I'm sorry, too," she says, "but you had no way of knowing what the Roanoke Liberty Foundation was up to. My first instinct was to suspect Clark Palmer also." She puts her hand on my arm and I have to force myself not to jerk away from her touch. I don't want to feel the heat that her touch is generating. That's something else I keep telling myself. Maybe if I tell myself that enough times. . . .

"Congratulations on your promotion, mate," Mic says from behind Mac. I had been so intent on Mac that I hadn't even noticed him approach our table. She finally pulls her hand away and I find that I miss her touch. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

"Well, thank you, Mic," I reply, forcing a smile and resisting the urge to take a swig of beer. One good thing about my promotion, I realize. I now have a leg up on BugMe. Finally, I can get rid of this feeling that he has replaced me – at work, anyway.

"Care to shoot some pool, Sarah?" he asks, gesturing behind him towards the pool table that is currently not in use, that annoying grin of his firmly in place. Too bad I can get rid of that feeling that he has replaced me in other aspects of my life.

Mac looks at me, as if asking for permission. Telling myself that I shouldn't care what she does, I shrug and tell her, "Go ahead. I don't think I'll hang around too much longer anyway."

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" she asks. "This is your promotion party, after all."

"Just a long week, I guess," I say weakly. "There's been a lot going on."

"Lighten up, mate," Mic says, gesturing for Mac to join him. "It's all over now."

I don't say anything, simply giving Mic a long look. I almost wish he had been the one who had set me up. It would have given me a very good excuse to go a few rounds with him. Mac hesitates and I can feel her eyes on me. I tear my gaze away from Mic and look at her again. "I'm fine," I insist, forcing myself to sound confident and sure. "Go on."

"Take care of yourself," she says softly, her hand on my arm again for a brief moment before she pushes her chair away from the table and stands, following Mic over to the pool table.

I look down at the scarred table top, trying not to think about everything. I don't want to watch her leave. I can't. Everything that we might have been to each other is slipping away. I just wonder how much longer it will be before our friendship does the same thing. I don't want to believe that could happen to us, but a lot of things have happened the last six months that I never would have believed possible.

-----

CHRISTMAS DAY

0815 ZULU

HARM RABB'S APARTMENT

NORTH OF UNION STATION

WASHINGTON, DC

What the hell has happened to my life? How did everything fall apart? As I enter my darkened apartment, having driven aimlessly through the city for the last few hours, I wonder if there is anything left to believe in.

I used to believe that my purpose in life was to be a Naval aviator. I spent most of my childhood and half of my adult life meeting that goal. Then, on a dark, stormy night, it was all taken away from me in the blink of an eye when my Tomcat hit the ramp of a carrier and I was grounded, for what I thought would be forever.

Eventually, I discovered the original diagnosis of night blindness was inaccurate and my dream was once again within reach. But after only a few months, that dream disappeared again, only this time it really was forever. Not enough flight hours, not enough traps, too old to get much further as an aviator. I knew that CAG was right when he said I needed to return to JAG, that there was no future left for me in aviation. Hell, I have to admit that I knew that before I urged Admiral Chegwidden to approve my request to change my designator. I just was hoping that, as I had done so many times before, I could beat the odds and come out on top.

Both times that I left the cockpit, JAG became my dream. The first time, the dream of being the best lawyer I could possibly be paled in comparison to flying once I found out that it was possible for me to return to the cockpit. The second time – I don't know. JAG may be the only dream I have left, but at times, it seems that nothing there is what it should be. Every time things seem to be getting better there, something happens to turn everything upside down and inside out again.

The Admiral seemed to welcome me back, if not exactly with open arms, then not with open hostility either. Then he assigned me to defend the SecNav's son, practically a lose-lose proposition. Once Mac and I were opposing each other in the Spencer court-martial, things seemed to have settled down, then we ended up in Panama and we worked against each other more than we were with each other. Once again, everything settled down when the Admiral and I teamed up to bring down Raglan, only to fall apart again when I was accused of writing that op-ed piece. Then I got my long-awaited promotion, only to promptly have a complaint filed against me by the Captain of the Patrick Henry for my conduct during Skates' court-martial.

I thought Diane was my dream of the woman I could spend the rest of my life with, but then she was murdered when I had barely realized that she was my dream. It took me a long time to get over her death, but I finally did. . . .

. . . .with Mac's help. Then I thought I might have found a new dream with her. But like so many of my dreams these days, that one seems to have evaporated, too. I had hoped for so much to happen between us once I returned to JAG, but like so much in my life, it seems that it was not meant to be. At best, the old spark is missing from our relationship; at worst, we seem so far apart at times that I wonder if we are even on the same continent. To make things worse, the more things seem to fall apart between Mac and myself, the closer she seems to be getting to Mic Brumby.

The strangest thing is, even with all the turmoil in other parts of my life, I did think there were certain things that I could always count on in my life – constants that would always remain steady and sure. But as of a few hours ago, even that illusion has been shattered.

How the hell did this happen? I had always had this image in my head. Maybe it was just a childhood fantasy – I don't know. But the good guys wore white, were always faithful and true, and my father was the best guy of them all. Now I wonder. Did I build him up so much, clinging to a six-year-old's innocent ideal of the man his father was, that there was no way the reality could ever live up to the image of the martyred hero? I had never met any man who could live up to the standards my father set in my eyes. God knows I never thought Frank did. When it came to a comparison between my lost hero and the man who I saw as taking his place in my mother's heart, Frank always came up far short.

You know, my head keeps trying to tell me that Jenny was right, that it was a crazy war and people did crazy things. My head also tries to remind me that I don't know for sure that anything truly happened that last night between Jenny and my father. But I have learned so much tonight that I can't process it all and the childish ideals that I have lived with since I was six years old just seem to have shattered.

The rational voice inside my head reminds me that Jenny never said anything more than simple kisses happened between her and my father. But it is what she didn't tell me that I can't let go of. As I go over in my head everything that I learned tonight, I can't help but wonder what happened between the time they were on the fantail and when my father reported for duty the next morning. Most telling of all, if nothing did happen, why did she feel the need to reassure me that my father loved my mother and me? I mean, if it had just been a kiss, what in that would make me even think that he loved us any less?

I have no proof that anything did happen, yet I have no proof that anything didn't. I could have pressed Jenny more. I'm a lawyer; it's my job to get people to answer questions, especially ones they may not necessarily want to answer. But when it comes to this, I don't think I ever want to know the answers. I don't know if I could live with the absolute certainty that the person I believed my father to be was nothing more than a lie that I built up to comfort myself for the last thirty years.

Right now, all that is left inside of me is a cold, dead space, much like the cold, dead world outside this window that I am staring out of. I feel so numb inside and I wonder if I will ever truly feel warm again. I feel as if I am holding onto everything by a very thin thread that could break at any moment. Which begs the question - what is there left to hold on to? I have no love life and the hero that I had always looked up to is no more. Now, work seems to be the only thing in my life worth holding on to.

That's what I have to do. I have to hold on to my career and try to forget about everything else. My career is a worthwhile goal, isn't it? When I returned from the Patrick Henry, I told myself that I wanted to be back on top at JAG, right? I just need to concentrate on that and make myself forget about everything else. I have to.

-----

22 JANUARY

SARAH MACKENZIE'S APARTMENT

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, DC

Mic Brumby is gone. Tonight, we had a going away party for him at McMurphy's Tavern. It was sad for me to watch him leave. Over the last year, he has become a valued colleague and a good friend. But it was a little awkward, also.

We had dinner at my apartment a few nights ago. We kissed and he wanted more, more that I was not prepared to give. He said that he was the perfect match for me. He was leaving and there was no fear of commitment.

That was part of it. I am afraid of commitment, to an extent. Wait a minute. Maybe it's more accurate to say that I am afraid of relationships. My first marriage – well, to say that it ended badly is a major understatement. I cared for John Farrow, but I was also using him. He made me feel good about myself, something that only my uncle had been able to do before. Of course, my past relationship with John was a nail, perhaps the final one, in the coffin of his career. Dalton Lowne used me and then he died because of me and a sick man's obsessions.

But the other part – the bigger part of why I couldn't let myself go with Mic is that I think there may be someone whom I can let myself go with. I think there may be one man who could help me overcome my fear of relationships and commitment. The only problem is that I do not know that he feels the same way about me that I do about him. After all, the other night he had dinner with that 'bitch director from Hell', as I called her when I was talking to Mic. To some, that would be reason enough to get involved with Mic. But I can't, not as long as there is a possibility that I might be wrong and he does feel the same way about me that I do about him.

I just wish I didn't feel like I was on such a roller coaster around him. Up and down. Up and down. It's been that way ever since he returned to JAG. First, we were so awkward. Then things were looking up until that damn trip to Panama. Looking back, I can't believe that I said some of the things that I did during that trip. Things weren't much better when he was accused of writing that op-ed piece.

Things seem to have gotten better recently, but there is still something wrong. I'm just not sure what it is, but I don't think it has anything to do with me. Of course, these days I can never be sure what he is thinking and feeling. Before, I might have been able to talk to him, to get him to open up to me, but everything has been so strained that I am scared that if I push too hard, I might make things worse. Then again, I don't know how much worse things can get than this uncertainty and confusion that has been so much a part of my life ever since he left me, left JAG.

-----


	2. Part 2

1 FEBRUARY 

0004 ZULU

USS SURIBACHI

ATLANTIC OCEAN

"How long has he been down there?" Bud asks me, concerned about the news that I have just given him, that Harm is trapped in the ship's brig after a collision with a reef caused the brig's overhead hatch to become blocked by falling debris.

"Thirty-seven minutes," I reply.That is hardly what could be considered a long time, but something about this situation just doesn't feel right.As I listen to Bud talk about being trapped in a carnival fun house once, I try to convince myself that Harm will be okay.After all, he has been in tight spots before and he has always survived.

I smile at Bud's story and distract myself by asking Bud about Jingo.After updating me on my dog, Bud then tells me what he has found on some of the players in the case Harm and I are investigating.As I thank him for the information and hang up, I can't help this heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

~*~*~*~

0126 ZULU

Well, in a way we're making progress.The Captain, despite the concern about what this situation will do to his career, has decided to call 2nd Fleet to tow the ship off the reef we collided with.Unfortunately, the work crews seem no closer to being able to rescue Harm and the others from the brig.

Harm and the XO are on the phone right now, the Commander assuring Harm that the crews are working to clear the debris and that it shouldn't be long until they are free.

As the XO passes the phone to me so that I can talk to Harm, I am relieved just to hear his voice."How are you?" I ask, the concern evident in my voice.

"Mac, take my mind off of this," he asks me.I can hear Petty Officer DeMara, the prisoner he was interrogating, yelling in the background and banging what I assume to be the door to his cell.

Though for a slightly different reason, I need the distraction also.I relate to him what I have learned about the murder and how the body was found.I ask him if he has spoken with DeMara about the murder, but he tells me that the prisoner is preoccupied.I can hear that.

"Well, at least he's locked up," I try to comfort Harm.DeMara may be unstable, but he can't do anything to Harm from where he is.

"Yeah, so are we," Harm reminds me.It sounds like this situation is getting to him, too.If I thought it would do any good, I'd head down to the brig myself and encourage the rescue team along in their work.Harm sounds like he is in desperate need of being rescued right about now.

~*~*~*~

0235 ZULU

I'm back on the phone with Bud.Life seems to be just great all around, doesn't it? I think sarcastically.It seems like Bud has nothing but bad news for me about the goings on back home.All pretty minor, but I was hoping to have something good to take my mind off my growing concern for my partner and my – my friend.

Bud tells me that Renee Peterson called for Harm.I wonder what he sees in her.I don't think he's serious about her, they've only had dinner together once.At least, I hope he's not serious about her.I don't want him to be serious about her.That night they had dinner together was a night that I had asked him to have dinner with me.I don't want to think that he refused me just to be with her.Then again, for all I know they could have agreed to meet for dinner before I had asked Harm out.And for all I know, that dinner could have been to discuss the recruiting commercial that she was shooting with Harm as the star.But if that is the case, why would she be trying to get a hold of him now?

After discussing Renee for a moment, Bud brings my mind back to what I am trying to forget, how concerned I am for Harm."It's over three hours now, ma'am," he reminds me.

"I know, Bud," I say.God, I know.With my sense of time, I have been so aware of every minute of those hours.

Bud asks me what's going on and I try to sound like it is no big deal, the complications the crew has run into in trying to free Harm and the others.

"Well, he is going to be alright, isn't he?" Bud asks, concerned.

"Of course," I reply, wishing that I sounded more convincing.Or that I was more convinced myself.

Bud picks up on that."You don't sound convinced, ma'am," he replies.

"I'm sure the worst is over," I try to reassure him.I just wish I was sure of that myself.But I can't help this feeling growing stronger in the pit of my soul that this is just the calm before the storm.

~*~*~*~

Not long after my ship to shore call with Bud, I have another discussion with the XO about the status of the rescue.I am fed up with the excuses and delays.I want Harm out of there now.I want this feeling of dread to go away.

"How's it going, Commander?" I ask firmly.

"They're on top of it, Colonel," he tells me.I can tell that he is not happy with my question and he tries to brush past me, but I move to block his path.

"Well, maybe they'd have better luck if they got off of it," I say angrily.I will not let him leave until I feel better about this situation.

"You making jokes?" he asks angrily.

"My partner's down there," I remind him firmly.

"Yeah," he says, his tone apologetic.He explains that some of the debris blocking the hatch is jammed in and they have sent for a cutting torch to cut through it.Then he says something that causes my heart to stop beating in my chest.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ship that is taking on water," he says before he walks around me to leave.Instead of going away, that feeling of dread is stronger than ever.Something deep inside tells me that the ship taking on water is a serious blow to Harm's chances of. . . .

No, I've got to stop thinking like that, I tell myself firmly.The hull breech could be anywhere.It doesn't necessarily pose a danger to the brig.But why can't I make myself believe that?

~*~*~*~

0322 ZULU

Admiral Chegwidden's arrival, with that of the USS Manassas, boosts my spirits just a little bit.The Manassas is going to tow the Suribachi off the reef and maybe a two-star admiral can get the Captain and the XO to move faster as far as Harm's rescue is concerned.

After the Captain briefs the Admiral on the current situation, I ask, "What about the rescue teams?"The Captain and XO seem to have pushed that to the back of their minds as they deal with this mysterious leak that no one can seem to locate.While being on a ship that may or may not sink does concern me, the fate of Harm concerns me even more.

"Making progress, Ma'am," the XO replies."Shouldn't be long now."

I am fed up with hearing that, just a variation on the answers I have been getting ever since Harm became trapped.But before I can reply, Admiral Chegwidden jumps in, "Well, I understand that's what you've been saying for the last few hours."Maybe that will get them moving.

After the Captain tries to excuse the slow response, the Admiral asks firmly, "Okay, best case scenario – where's this leak located?"

"In a non-functioning compartment," the Captain replies.

"Worst case?" the Admiral asks.

Before he answers, the Captain pauses just a second.Dear God, no, I think.Don't let him say what I think he is about to say.But God doesn't hear my plea.

"The brig, Sir," he answers and I have to keep reminding myself that I am an officer in the United States Marine Corps and that I have to remain strong.But I can't stop the look of horror that crosses my face and when I turn to the Admiral, I see the same look in his eyes.

~*~*~*~

The Admiral and I have gone to the officer's mess for a cup of coffee and to get away from the bridge.I don't think I can listen to many more of the Captain and XO's assurances that they will rescue Harm and the others.Right now, I don't want assurances – I want to see Harm walk through that door.

"Dead calm," I say sadly, looking out a porthole into the black night.

"Spare me the depressing metaphors, Colonel," the Admiral tells me.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I say, "I'm sure he'll be alright." 

"Yes, he will," the Admiral says firmly.

"Now convince me," I tell him.That's what I need right now, someone to break through all my doubts and fears and tell me that Harm will make it out of this.

"Colonel, the Commander is too damn pig-headed to leave this world.He will find a way out," he says.He sounds so convinced.I wish I shared that conviction, but I am growing more scared with every minute that passes without Harm being rescued.

~*~*~*~

0410 ZULU

"What the hell kind of leader are you?" the Admiral yells at the head of the rescue team.He has just informed us. . . .Dear God, I can't even complete the thought.I don't want to believe what he has just told us.I can't believe it."No decent officer on this planet would leave men behind."All I can do is stand there and listen, my hands clasped in front of me so that I can resist the urge to hit something.All the time a single thought keeps repeating itself in my mind.No, this can't be happening.Dear God, don't let it end like this, without me telling Harm everything about how I feel.

The Lieutenant and Captain both make excuses about why the rescue is on hold, but neither the Admiral or I want to hear any of it.The Admiral continues to argue in favor of the team going back down to pull Harm out of the brig.

"Admiral, both men have been reported dead," the Captain reminds him firmly.The Admiral says nothing and with his back to me, I can't see the expression on his face.But from his tone, I have a feeling that the look on his face matches the horror and disgust on my own.

Right now, I want nothing more in the world than to sink to my knees and scream out my anger and frustration and my grief.I remember a conversation I once had with Harm, when we thought that Clayton Webb was dead.I remember how I told him that as a Marine, I expected to see people die, but not after I joined JAG – not like this.I remember the feel of his hands as he brushed the tears from my cheeks.No, it can't happen like this.There's so much I still have to tell Harm, so much that he needs to hear.

I force myself to remain calm and to think.What can I do?What would Harm do in this type of situation?Then the answer comes to me.He'd do what we did when we thought Clay was dead.He'd investigate.So that's what I'm going to do.I'm going to investigate.And I'll start with the one man who knows the truth. . . . Chief Petty Officer Sturtevant, the man who was rescue from the brig.The man who reported Harm dead.

~*~*~*~

"They both drowned," Chief Sturtevant tells the Admiral and me in sickbay, "trapped beneath the water line.I managed to pull the Commander out, but – it was too late."

The Admiral and I both shoot questions at him, trying to poke holes in his story.Not that it takes much effort.He claims there was nothing he could do, but I can feel that what he is telling us isn't the whole truth.Or is it that I don't want it to be the whole truth?Am I so desperate to hang on to the belief that my best friend – the man I have grown to love – is still alive that I will refuse to believe anything the Chief tells us.

But I'm not the only one who feels the need to hang on to the belief that Harm is alive.The Admiral goes on to the Chief about any number of ways that the three men could have saved themselves, while the Chief just looks ahead with an infuriatingly stony gaze.

Finally, the Chief looks at both of us and says, "Sir, Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I did the best I could."I look from Sturtevant to the Admiral, desperate to see something in either of their faces that will convince me that my worst fears have not come to pass.

~*~*~*~

After our interrogation of the Chief, the Admiral and I head back to the bridge for another talk with the Captain.

"Colonel, you have no evidence they're alive," the Captain tells me.

"The only evidence they're dead is Chief Sturtevant's statement," I point out.

"And we're not signing off on the Chief's statement," the Admiral adds, shaking his head.

"Admiral, I don't know what to say," the Captain says."Gut feels are all well and good, but any attempt to go back down there will risk not only this ship but the lives of the men on that mission."

"Point made," the Admiral says.Please don't tell me he is giving up.

"I'll make it as many times as I'm allowed, Sir," the Captain responds."I hope you understand, Admiral."

"I understand," the Admiral says firmly.I can sense the barely contained fury behind his statement."Perfectly."From the tone of his voice and the way he leaves the bridge, I can tell that he is about to move heaven and earth to go down to the brig and determine Harm's fate for himself.Now all I can do is wait – and pray.Pray that I will have another chance with Harm.

~*~*~*~

Thank God, I keep telling myself after word reaches the bridge that Admiral Chegwidden has pulled Harm out of the brig – alive.Reminding myself, as I have done many times tonight, that I am a Marine, I resist the urge the race to sickbay and beat Chief Sturtevant to within an inch of his life for making me believe for even a second that Harm was dead.

As we sit around a table in the officer's mess and Harm tells his story, I am comforted somewhat by the fact that Sturtevant will have plenty of time to contemplate what has happened tonight.Time in Leavenworth, since Harm informs us that the Chief is the murderer, not DeMara.I wonder what kind of charges we can tack on to the murder charge for leaving Harm and DeMara in the brig to die.

As Harm sits down next to me at the table, I can't help glancing at him every few seconds, as if to reassure myself that he is alive and here with me.

"How did you know they were alive?" the Captain asks.

"We didn't, Sir," I admit reluctantly, glancing at Harm.

"But you were so confident."

I guess I fooled him.Because I did not feel anywhere near as confident as he makes us sound.But I brush that aside and reply, looking at Harm with a smile, "Well, I suppose it comes from our experience with the Commander."

Harm smiles at me in response and I can't help feeling that seeing his smile once again is the most wonderful thing in the world.It also reminds me how precious life is.I nearly lost Harm tonight without ever having a chance to tell him how I feel.No, that's not entirely accurate.I had plenty of chances, I just never took them.I was too afraid to take them - afraid that it wouldn't work out between us, afraid that he wouldn't feel the same way I do.But if I have learned nothing else tonight, it is that I have to take the chance and let him know.I just have to.

~*~*~*~

THE FOLLOWING MONDAY

7 FEBRUARY

1530 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

Aaaa-choo.Damn.You'd think I'd been the one trapped in a brig filling with water on the USS Suribachi.I'd started feeling run down Friday, the day after we returned from the Suribachi.Barely making it through the work day, I had planned to go home, lounge around my apartment for the weekend and be over this cold by Monday.It's not like I had anything better to do this weekend.

Harm had taken leave on Friday and went away somewhere for the weekend, which put a damper on my plan to talk to him and lay everything out in the open about our feelings for each other.I had called Friday and left a message on his machine, asking him to call me as soon as he returned.He did return my call Sunday evening, but I had run to the convenience store for some more medicine and missed him.I just hope he didn't get it into his head to go away somewhere with Renee.Talk about something to put a damper on my plans.I don't get what he sees in her.At least his past girlfriends – Annie, Jordan – had some substance to them.I could tolerate them and even hold an intelligent conversation with either one of them.Renee seems to be all flash and style.

The question of whether Harm went somewhere with Renee hasn't been my only concern the weekend.Mic still sends me daily e-mail messages about the weather and water temperatures in Australia.Then, of course, there are the postcards of the beaches there.If I want a beach, I'll go to Florida.Or maybe California.After all, Harm's parents live in California and on a beach no less.With this cold, summer weather would be so wonderful right now, but what part of 'no' does Mic not understand?No matter how many times I tell him. . . .why can't Harm pursue me like that?

The elevator opens and Bud and I step out, Bud telling me about his close call with an eighteen-wheeler on the Beltway.Like me, Bud is sniffling and sneezing, so I don't feel so bad about my own discomfort.I guess misery really does love company.

After another sneeze and a 'Gesundheit' from Bud, I declare, "I'm not getting through this winter without pneumonia."

"It's the convertible," A smug and perfectly healthy Harm points out, a slight smirk on his face.As I strip out of my coat, I can't help wondering how he can look so healthy when he's the one who nearly drowned last week.Maybe he spent his weekend away somewhere warm.Maybe I should have taken leave on Friday as well and requested that he take me with him.Now there's a *very* nice thought."I caught colds every winter when I had my 'Vette.Now I four-wheel through the snow, sipping my morning and listening to Jimmy Lefave."

Typical Harm humor and it's not often that I hear him tease me like that anymore.Maybe once I talk to him, I'll be hearing him tease me a lot more.But right now I'm in no condition to appreciate his brand of dry humor."Very. . . ." I begin before being cut off by another sneeze.

"Gesundheit," Harm says.

". . . .funny," I finish, shooting Harm a mock glare.But he just ignores me and continues to sip his coffee.I want to ask if he has plans for dinner tonight, but Gunny comes up to us before I can even think how to ask.

"Sirs, Ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you in his office ASAP.If I may. . . ."He holds out his hands and Bud and I hand him our coats.

"What's up, Gunny?" Harm asks.

"Don't know, Sir," he replies."But Commander Brumby called him this morning from Australia."

"Brumby?" I ask, stunned.I thought he was back in Australia permanently.As if his e-mails and postcards weren't bad enough.Just what I need right now.

After Gunny confirms, Harm remarks, just a hint of derision in his voice, "The man's like a boomerang."

As we all head for the Admiral's office, with me trailing slightly behind as I take advantage of the box of tissues Gunny handed me, I can't help agreeing with Harm's assessment.E-mails with weather reports and now calls to the Admiral.When am I going to have some peace from Mic Brumby?

~*~*~*~

The case the Admiral is briefing us on sounds pretty interesting, but why are we getting involved, despite the fact that it was one of our sailors murdered?The murderer was a Aussie, so it is their responsibility to try the man.

"Commander Brumby has requested our assistance," the Admiral says once he is finished giving us a brief overview of the case.

"Forensics, Sir?" I ask.But that doesn't make much sense if the body had already been identified twenty-eight years ago.Out of the corner of my eye, I see a look of frustration and disbelief on Mac's face.

"No," the Admiral replies."Evidently, the suspect refuses to talk until he has spoken with a US Navy JAG officer."This is making even less and less sense.

"So says Commander Brumby," Mac retorts, clearly not believing the story.But why?Her attitude makes as much sense as this entire case.

"You have reason to doubt him, Colonel?" the Admiral asks, surprised.I guess he didn't think Mac would call into question Brumby's veracity.After all, they were so close before he went back down under.

"Sir, the Commander's been trying to get me to Australia since the day he left," she says angrily.I thought she liked the guy, not that I really want to think about *that*.I have never understood what she saw – or sees, I guess – in that smug, self-serving. . . ."He even offered to buy me a business class seat on Qantas."

"Wow," Bud says, apparently impressed.

I quickly jump in, "Probably an upgrade with mileage."

"He e-mails me Sydney's air and water temps daily," she continues, frustrated.She's getting awfully worked up about this.

"That's right," the Admiral adds."It's summer down under."Do we all really need to hear this?I don't care about the water temperature, the air temperature or the fact that it is summer in Sydney, Australia.I guess my boomerang analogy was accurate.The man is out of sight, but far from out of mind.

"He even sends me postcards of the beaches," Mac goes on.

"As I recall, they're topless."This from the Admiral again.Good, then let Brumby go ogle the women at the topless beaches and leave Mac alone.God, where did that come from?Mac is a friend, my best friend and after the last few months, I know she doesn't feel the same way about me as I do about her.Now if I could only make myself remember that we're supposed to be just friends. . . .

Mac is almost furious when she finishes, "But I never. . . .never thought he'd pull a stunt like this!"

"He didn't."Bud and I turn and look at the Admiral, stunned, but Mac goes on for another moment about Brumby's presumption before what the Admiral just said sinks in.

"He didn't, Sir?" she asks, surprised.

"No, Mac," he replies.He pauses a moment, almost as if he's trying to figure out a graceful way out of this situation."He requested Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Roberts."

Maybe Brumby's smarter than I gave him credit for.I start to smirk, but Mac glances in my direction and I drop the expression.She looks embarrassed and again I don't understand her.I would think, after the way she just went on about the way he's been bugging her, that she would be happy that he's not using this case as an excuse to get her down to Australia.Or maybe she really does want to go to Australia.God, I don't want to think about that possibility.

~*~*~*~

I practically storm out of the Admiral's office, I'm so mad.Mad at Brumby that he has driven me crazy enough to open myself to embarrassment like that.Mad at myself for going on like that.And now I'm getting mad at Harm and Bud because they will not let it drop.What is with that man?He doesn't even like Brumby, so you would think that he would be thrilled that I am annoyed with Brumby's attentions.But no, he's got to crack jokes about it.

"Oh, uh, Bud," Harm says, deadpan, "when you're making flight arrangements with Commander Brumby, make sure that he knows that we're expecting favored nations."

"Business class on Qantas, Sir?" he asks.I resist the urge to turn around and throttle Harm.

"Oh, Mac," Harm calls out to me and I do turn around, glaring at him."What hotel was Mic going to put you up at, the. . . ."

"No another word," I interrupt angrily, pointing my tissue box at him.

He laughs and teases, "Come on, Mac, you left yourself wide open in there."

"Yeah, I know," I retort."You've all had your laugh.Now drop it!"As I turn for my office, I sneeze again, getting 'God Bless You' in different languages coming from all directions.Shooting Harm another glare, I stride into my office and let the door slam behind me.

Tossing the tissue box on the my desk, I sit down and grab a file, determined to bury myself in work until I forget. . . .Damn, I was going to ask Harm if he'd like to have dinner with me tonight, but Mic is dragging him away halfway around the world.Mic Brumby really knows how to annoy me.Damn you, Mic Brumby.

~*~*~*~

1930 ZULU

SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Brumby's really devoted to Mac, I see as Bud and I step off the plane in Sydney.The man won't stop harassing her via e-mail and regular mail, but he spends his time down here ogling other women.There's a part of me that wishes Mac could see this, then maybe she's drop kick him and he'd finally get the picture to leave her alone.But why do I care?Mac and I are just friends and her private life is her business.Yeah, right.I still don't believe that, no matter how many times I try to tell myself that."Some people never change," I remark with a smirk as Bud and I walk up to Mic.

"My thoughts exactly, Commander," Brumby says, his usual annoying grin on his face.He holds out his hand and I take it."Welcome to Oz."What is he trying to do, break my hand?I return the grip with equal force, but fortunately Bud jumps in before any bodily harm is done.I shake out my fingers as Bud and Brumby shake hands, then they begin walking off as Bud takes out his collection of baby AJ's pictures, Brumby ignoring my presence.

He does the same at the car, placing Bud's bags in the back and leaving me to fend for myself.It's on the tip of my tongue to remind him that I am a senior office, but when he teases me with the keys to his Land Rover, then pulls them back after reminding me they drive on the left down here, I see a perfect way to get even.I insist on driving and even pretend that I was just being nice and opening the door for Brumby when I almost got in on the wrong side of the car.

The drive begins smoothly enough as Brumby explains the details of the case to us, but then Bud cries out and I swerve back onto the correct side of the road.I glance back and Bud looks like he's about to have a heart attack in the back seat, but my apparent lack of driving skills doesn't seem to bother Mic as he continues explaining the case.

Brumby tells me to take a right at the circle and I follow his directions – literally – nearly causing an accident as I go around the circle in the wrong direction.

"Down here, we go around the circle to the left, mate," Brumby says, seeming to enjoy correcting my driving.

"You said take a right," I retort, pretending innocence.

"After going around the circle to the left," he clarifies, shaking his head.I manage to keep the smirk off my face.

As we pull into the Naval base, I pull in on the wrong side of the guard shack, bringing a gentle rebuke from one of the guards, "Begging your pardon, Sir, but in Australia we drive on the left side of the road."

I turn to Brumby, feigning ignorance, "Why didn't you tell me?"He just shakes his head as he shows his ID to the guard.As I pull away from the gate, Brumby again reminds me which side of the road to drive on.

We drive around the perimeter of the base until Brumby tells me, "That's my spot up ahead between those two cars, mate."I pull just ahead of the spot, preparing to parallel park.

Brumby unfastens his seatbelt and turns to me."Better let me park it," he suggests, Bud echoing the sentiment.I turn and glare at Bud.

"I'll give it a try," I reply, turning my attention back to my driving.I manage to park it perfectly on the first try.Brumby looks over at me, surprised.After I get out of the car, I explain with a straight face, "My stepfather hadcottage in the Bahamas.That's where I learned to drive."I toss the keys through the open window to Brumby.

As I begin walking away, I can hear Bud ask, "Sir, don't they drive on the left hand side of the road in the Bahamas?"

I can just barely hear Brumby's 'Bloody hell' and I let myself smile.Gotcha.

~*~*~*~

2210 ZULU

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA

While Harm and Bud are enjoying the summer sun in Australia, I'm stuck here, trying to sign documents with the Admiral in an office where the temperature's just barely above freezing.

"Why is it so damn cold in here?" the Admiral asks."I can barely sign my name."He should consider himself lucky.At least he's not wearing a skirt.

"Furnace conked out again, Sir," Tiner replies, handing me another document to sign.There's a part of me that wishes that I was in Australia right now.

"Get the damn thing fixed," the Admiral orders.

"Maintenance is on it, Admiral," Gunny explains as he walks into the office, carrying a folder."But it's older than I am and needs to be replaced."

"Not in this year's budget, Gunny," I reply with a sigh.

"Then Tiner and I better start chopping some firewood, Ma'am," Gunny retorts.

"What is it, Gunny?" the Admiral asks as he hands the last document to Tiner, who leaves the office.

"The FBI reports on the fingerprints Commander Rabb e-mailed from Australia, Sir," he replies, handing the folder to the Admiral, who opens it and quickly reads over the report.

"I see the deceased is alive," the Admiral summarizes.

"Yes, Sir," Gunny responds."I'm trying to locate his wife to tell her the good news/bad news.Your husband is alive, but you gotta repay the money you got from Uncle Sam."

"Sounds like bad news/bad news," I reply, glancing up at Gunny.

"Yes, Ma'am, it does," he says, smiling.

"We'll have to ship the body buried here back to Australia," the Admiral says.An idea begins to form in my mind.

"I prepared the necessary papers for your signature, Sir," Gunny says.

Curious, I turn to Gunny and ask, "Where's he interred, Gunny?"

"Nashville, Tennessee, Ma'am," he replies before turning to the Admiral."I assume you'll want an NCO to escort the body home, Sir."

"Absolutely," the Admiral replies.

I take the opportunity to speak up, "You just signed off on my cases, Sir, and I have some leave coming.I could escort the body to Sydney."He doesn't need to know that I have ulterior motives for making the request.Maybe what Harm and I need is to be away from Washington.Plus it would give me the chance to get out of this damn cold.

The Admiral just looks at me over his glasses as Gunny interjects, "Protocol only requires an NCO, Ma'am."I'm sure he was hoping to be assigned the duty, but rank has it's privileges and I intend on taking advantage of them.

"Considering the circumstances," I explain, hoping to justify my making the trip, "having an officer escorting the remains is the least we can do."

"Well, hell, I'd like to get out of this damn cold," the Admiral says, as if that's the reason I'm requesting this assignment.It is, but of course that's only part of it.He looks at me for a long moment and I work not to appear to anxious.Finally, he hands me the paperwork and orders, "Take a week.I can't spare you and Commander Rabb longer than that.Dismissed."

"Aye, Sir," I reply, unable to stop the smile from forming.I stand and come to attention."Thank you, Sir."

I have to resist the urge to rush out of the office.I'm getting out of this office, out of the cold. . . .and I'm on my way to Harm.

~*~*~*~

0130 ZULU

CRUSTACEANS BEACH CAFÉ

MANLY BEACH

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Great, we get to suffer through more of Brumby's leering at the women, both the topless ones on the beach just outside the café and the waitress taking our order.She makes a comment about my dress whites and gold wings and Brumby has to try to flirt with her.I guess the man can't stand not being the center of attention.Maybe that's why he hasn't figured out yet that Mac's not interested in him.Maybe it's inconceivable to him that a woman – any woman - might not be interested in him.

I try to bring the conversation around to our case, but Brumby's not interesting in talking about anything until we confirm that he actually is Petty Officer Kevin Lee.He seems very sure of his guilt in the murder, especially since the victim has been revealed to be an Aussie and the accused an American, instead of the other way around.I can't resist getting a dig in."Did you feel that way when you thought he *was* Dunsmore?" I ask.Mic opens his mouth to reply, probably with some smart aleck remark, but the ringing of my cell phone rescues me from having to listen.

"Commander Rabb," I say into the phone.

"Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, Sir," Gunny says smartly.

"Gunny," I greet him, hoping he's calling with our ID."Hey, how's Washington?"

"Doing a terrific imitation of Antarctica, Sir," he jokes."How's the weather down under?"

"You really want to know?" I counter, looking out over the beach.

"That good, Sir?" he asks.

"Better," I say with a grin.Brumby may not be my favorite person, but any assignment that gets me out of the frigid cold and snow in Washington is okay.I change the topic to business."Did you get the fingerprints?"

"Yes, Sir," he replies."They belong to Petty Officer Kevin Lee, US Navy."I pull the phone away from my ear and pass the news on to Brumby, who doesn't look very pleased with the news.I thought he was convinced that he did murder Dunsmore?I put the phone back to my ear and tell Gunny, "The Admiral's going to need to authorize the return of the body to Australia."

"It's already done, Sir," he informs me."Colonel Mackenzie's leaving with the remains in the morning."

What?"Mac is?" I ask, stunned.Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brumby taking a sudden interest in my conversation with Gunny.

"Yes, Sir," Gunny replies."She volunteered."

The last thing I want is Mac down here around the arrogant Brumby.Then again, maybe she'll give him the brush off for good when she sees how he eyes all the other women around here.But why on earth would she volunteer to come down here?Unless she actually does want to see Brumby. . . .but I don't want to think about that.Gunny says that Harriet is there and would like to talk to Bud.Still stunned over the news that Mac is coming here, I hand the phone to Bud without saying a word.

"Mac is what, Harm?" Brumby asks, but I barely notice that he is even talking to me, let alone answer him.

I'm startled out of my reverie by Bud yelling at me, "You didn't tell me Harriet was on the phone."He frantically tries to dial JAG on my phone when I realize what Bud just said, thinking he was speaking to Gunny, and that I didn't inform him Harriet was on the line.

"I didn't know you were going to talk about breasts," I protest."I'm sorry."

Brumby draws my attention away from Bud's attempts to reach his wife and explain."She's escorting Dunsmore's body back, isn't she?" he asks, sounding entirely too pleased at the prospect.There's a part of me that would like to point out that if he wants Mac so much, why is he so busy eyeing every female he sees.

I glance over at him and admit the truth, knowing that he's going to find out sooner or later, "I'm sure it was the Admiral's idea."

"Must have been," he says with a smirk.I glance at him, then look away as Bud rejoins us at the table, upset because Harriet had already left JAG.

"When are we flying home?" Bud asks, sounding desperate.I guess I can't blame him.But with Mac on her way, I don't really want to leave and have her here alone with Brumby.

"Soon as Commander Brumby releases Petty Officer Lee into our custody," I reply.I have a feeling I know what his reply will be, but in my mind I'm already planning a strategy to dispute Australian jurisdiction.Given Brumby's attitude a few minutes ago, I'm not sure Petty Officer Lee can get treated fairly down here.

"Not gonna happen, mate," Brumby replies, just as I figured he would.

"Why not?" I counter."I'm sure the usual port of call agreement was in effect at the time the Chicago docked in seventy-two.It gives us jurisdiction."

"This isn't some drunken sailor busting up a pub," Brumby argues, standing and leaning towards me.

I stand and lean forward, getting in Brumby's face as I argue back, "He's one of ours, Mic."

He counters, "He might be one of yours but he murdered one of ours and he did it here, so he'll damn well be tried here."

Our waitress, returning with our order, stuns us by leaving our tray and taking off running.Then I realize that only two of us are stunned by her actions.Brumby acts like this is some big joke and I realize the truth.That was Jenny, Petty Officer Lee's Australian wife.

When I voice my conclusions, Brumby says with a laugh, "Give the man a meat pie."It takes everything I have in me not to deck the bastard right here in the restaurant.Well, as long as there's a dispute about jurisdiction, I'm sure as hell not leaving Australia and Mac won't be left alone with this self-serving bastard.

~*~*~*~

SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN

I've given up on trying to sleep, so right now I'm staring out the window at the endless ocean below.I'm the one who volunteered for this little detail, but my stomach is all tied up in knots over everything.

On the one hand, I've got Harm.He's the best friend I've ever had and even the distance between us since he returned from flight duty doesn't negate that.On the outside, many people see him cocky and self-assured.But I've seen the man behind that façade and he's one of the kindest, most compassionate people I've ever met.I can't remember a time in the four years that I've known him that I haven't wanted him, but the timing never seemed right.First we had to get to know each other.Then there was Dalton and Annie.Then my husband returned, dragging up events from my past that I'd just as soon had remained buried.Then he found Jordan – of course, I had kind of sworn off men at the time after the fiasco with Chris and John.Then, when I was finally ready to admit to myself that I had long ago fallen in love with Harmon Rabb, he broke my heart into about a million pieces when he told me that he was returning to active flight status.

That's when Mic really became a bigger part of my life.He was assigned as my partner after Harm left, but – and this is nothing against Mic – it just wasn't the same.Every time we worked together, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help comparing how things would happen if it had been Harm with me.The working relationship I developed with Mic Brumby, while not bad, just did not compare to the one I'd shared with Harm.

Then, there was Mic's pursuit of a personal relationship with me.He's chased after me almost from the first moment we met, even after he tried to pin Chris' murder on me.But he really stepped up his actions after Harm left.I guess he saw Harm as his rival and with the competition out of the way. . . .But I resisted at every turn.I had just admitted to myself that I was in love with Harm and, even though he was gone, I couldn't let myself fall into a relationship with another man.

To be honest, Mic is a nice guy and if it hadn't been for Harm, who knows?Maybe I would have let myself get involved with Mic.I mean, it's certainly flattering the attention he's paid me.But every time he would ask me out, I would wish that Harm would do that.Even that one night when Mic kissed me just before he went back to Australia, I couldn't help wishing that Harm was the one kissing me.So I pushed Mic away.But of course, for him it didn't stop there.Even half a world away, he still insinuated himself into my life, never giving up his pursuit of me.

So now I'm on my way to Australia, about to be caught in the middle between the man I want more than anything and the man who wants me more than anything.Between the man whose feelings I can't begin to decipher and the man who is practically shouting that he wants me from the rooftops.I know Harm would hate the comparison, but why can't he be more open with his feelings the way Mic is?Maybe then my stomach wouldn't be so tied up in knots.

~*~*~*~

0215 ZULU

MANLY BEACH

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

I hang up my cell phone after my conversation with the Admiral during which I laid out my concerns over jurisdiction.But he agrees with Brumby and decides the Petty Officer Lee is to be tried here.I turn to Bud and tell him that the Admiral did agree to speak with Harriet, trying to smooth things over with her regarding Bud's comments earlier.I frown a little as Brumby walks up to us.

"Well?" he asks, a bit too eagerly for me.

I'm biting my tongue as I reply, "We're accepting Australian jurisdiction."

He sounds even more eager as he smiles and says, "The Admiral overruled you, did he?"I hold my tongue, knowing that if I try to respond with it not be pleasant.

"I want to speak to Petty Officer Lee one more time," I say after staring at Brumby for a long moment, dropping the subject of jurisdiction.

Brumby checks his watch and shrugs."Ah, He's on his way to the Long Bay Correctional Complex to await trial," he informs me, "but I can arrange for you to see him."

I somehow manage to hold back my anger as I ask, "You transferred him before we agreed to jurisdiction?"

"I never had a doubt who had jurisdiction," he retorts smugly."You did."I stare at him for another long moment before he asks,"When are you flying home?"

What?Does he think I'm going to take off on the next flight out of here and leave him here alone so he can pursue Mac?I don't think so."When I'm satisfied Petty Officer Lee is properly represented," I reply.

He laughs.Breathe, Rabb, and try not to think about how you'd like to knock the daylights out of him."Are you afraid of my being alone down here with Mac?" he asks.

As if I'm going to admit that to him.I carefully keep my expression neutral so that he won't realize how close to home he hit.I do reply as I step closer to him, a hint of anger evident in my voice so that he knows I mean business, "You know, Brumby, one of these days, you and I are going to strip blouses."

"Always assumed we would, mate," he replies, stepping towards me."Question's only been when."

Bud and I depart as quickly as possible.Now's not the time for this.We take the ferry across the harbor and as we disembark and begin walking along the Circular Quay, Bud brings up my inevitable confrontation with Brumby.

"You aren't really going to fight Commander Brumby, are you?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I don't really want to talk about it, so I joke, "Don't think I can take him, Bud?"

Bud rushes to reassure me, "Oh, no, I'm sure you'll put up a good fight, Sir."

I have to laugh a little at that."But you're not betting on me, huh?" I conclude.

"Sir, he was a professional boxer," Bud exclaims, growing more concerned, probably because I'm not denying that I will eventually fight Brumby."Which is why you can't fight him because his fists are lethal weapons."

"I promise not to sue," I retort.

Bud grows serious and comments, "You must really hate him, Sir."

I shake my head.Hating him requires too much thought and I try not to think of Brumby at all.But sometimes that's mission impossible."I don't hate him," I insist."He just bugs me.He always has.I don't know if it's that smug grin or the Crocodile Dundee accent or the way he. . . ."I trail off, not wanting to discuss this further. I had sworn to myself that I was not ready for a relationship with Mac, but it's not that easy to turn off my feelings.

"Chases after Colonel Mackenzie, Sir?" Bud finishes.

God, am I really that transparent?I turn to stare at him."Et tu, Brute?" I ask.

"Sir, with all due respect," he continues boldly, "I think there's some validity to what Commander Brumby said."He certainly has changed.I can't imagine him having this conversation with me a few years ago.

I try to cover by passing off my concern as that of a friend."Look, Mac has been either a partner or a worthy adversary for the past four years," I explain."I just don't want to see her make another bad choice with a man, you know."That sounds reasonable enough.I mean, I've seen Mac have to deal with Dalton, Chris and the fallout from her relationship with Colonel Farrow.What kind of friend would I be if I didn't express my concern?

"Well, are you certain Commander Brumby is a bad choice, Sir?" he asks.I'm not sure if he truly believes that or is just playing devil's advocate.

"What, you don't think so?" I counter.Hasn't he been paying attention to the way Brumby's been acting – ogling the women at the airport, Jenny at the café and the women on the beach?This is the kind of man he thinks would be good for Mac?Then again, have I ever met a man who I truly think would be good enough for Mac?

~*~*~*~

1940 ZULU

SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Wow, it's so warm here!That's my main thought as Mic walks up to me, his usual grin on his face as he salutes.I return the salute and we smile at each other."Welcome to Australia, Colonel," he greets me.

Before I can reply, I am overcome by a violent sneeze andMic hands me a handkerchief, which I accept gratefully."Thanks.I ran out of tissues," I explain.

"We'll bake that cold out of you," he jokes.

Sounds wonderful.Maybe coming here wasn't such a bad idea."Oooh," I exclaim, "it's so nice and warm."

"Look, I'm off duty," Mic tells me."What do you say to a day at the beach?"

It crosses my mind to refuse, but what's the harm in simply going to the beach? It's not like I'm agreeing to a date with him.He's just being nice, offering me a nice day in the sun so I can try and get over this cold.If I keep telling myself that, then maybe I can put up with his dogged pursuit, if he starts it again up now that I'm here in person."Oh, that sounds great," I say, looking forward to warming up in the bright sun.I look around, surprised."You know, I expected Harm and Bud to meet me here," I say.I really wanted to see Harm.

Mic almost sounds pleased when he tells me, "They're meeting with their defendant."

The alarm bells begin going off in my head.I have a feeling this whole situation's about to go to hell in a hand basket."Harm's defending Petty Officer Lee?" I ask, stunned.Why would Harm agree to this?I thought Australian courts had jurisdiction.Can he even argue before an Australian court?

"Not that it will do him any good, though," Mic counters. "I'm prosecuting."He winks at me before moving to open the car door for me.

Oh, no.The other shoe just dropped.Forget about to go to hell.This situation's already there."Oh, Mic," I say with a groan.I resist the urge to cringe when he laughs and I'm wishing now more than ever that I had never volunteered to come on this trip.Nothing good can come out of this.Nothing.

~*~*~*~

2100 ZULU

MANLEY FERRY, SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

After a stop at the hotel to check in and change into something a little more appropriate for a day at the beach, Mic and I are now on the ferry across the harbor on the way to Manly Beach.So far, Mic has been nice and not too pushy, so I've let myself relax and just enjoy the beautiful weather.Although I am trying to ignore the fact that he had beach gear with him in his car when he picked me up at the airport, as if my going to the beach with him was a foregone conclusion.

"I can't believe this is February," I say with a smile.This is definitely what I need to get over this cold.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Mic asks.

"It is gorgeous!" I exclaim, pushing my blowing hair back off my face.I look over the railing at the beautiful blue harbor."The air's so clean and the water's so blue."

"There's a few sharks down there, though," Mic informs me, pointing at that water, and I look at him, surprised.

"What? In the harbor?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says nonchalantly, as if sharks so close to shore are a normal part of life in Australia."But not the man eaters, though.The sharks you have to worry about wear Speedos."

I look at him as if to say 'Oh, Mic," but in spite of myself, I laugh at the statement.I know he's just flirting and this is typical Mic behavior, so I can't let myself get too mad.Anyway, I've managed to hold him at arm's length for well over a year now.I don't think a day at the beach is going to change that.

Soon, the ferry docks and Mic leads me off."It's been so long since I've had time off," I comment, "I'm afraid I've forgotten how to have fun."

"Well, no worries.I'll fix that," Mic says confidently, laughing.I have an idea that his idea of fun and mine are not quite the same.It's on the tip of my tongue to remind him that we're just friends, but I don't want to start a confrontation.I just want to enjoy the beautiful weather and the company of a friend.

"The sand feels so great," I proclaim as we walk across the beach towards the water."It feels so warm between my toes."

"We have the nicest beaches in the world," Mic brags."Beats the hell out of being stuck in DC, doesn't it?"

We manage to find a good spot on the beach and I drop my bag as Mic lays out our blanket and sets up our chairs.I smile happily, enjoying the feeling of the warm sand between my toes and the beautiful blue of the water.I whip off my hat and enjoy the feeling of the warm breeze in my hair."Oh, God, it's beautiful!" I exclaim.

"I knew you'd love it," Mic replies.

"What's not to love?" I shoot back with a laugh.I strip off my sundress, revealing my bright blue bikini.

"Very nice. . . ." Mic begins, stripping out of his own clothes to reveal a pair of blue Speedos, before switching gears at my slightly annoyed glance, "bikini, that is."

"I knew that's what you meant," I say, shaking my head.For a second, I wonder again about the wisdom of coming to the beach with Mic.The attention's flattering, but it's not what I want.But it's nothing I can't handle.I am a Marine Colonel, after all.

"Yeah, but you're in Australia, Mac," Mic continues in that flirtatious tone."Wear an Aussie bikini"

Oh, no.From the tone of his voice, I have a feeling I don't want to know what an Aussie bikini is.Wary, I say, "I'm afraid to ask."

Mic grins at me and says in a reassuring tone, "Oh, no worries.It's a two piece – a hat and a bottom."

What?I stare at him, stunned.I know he didn't just say what I think he just did.I see him looking around the beach and I look around myself, stunned at the sight of other women sunbathing topless.I was so caught up in the feeling of the warm sand and the beauty of the water that I hadn't even noticed the other sunbathers.This idea is getting worse all the time.But not all the women are topless.I still have a chance to defuse this, although I don't think Mic will appreciate it.He's giving me one of his grins, as if he's looking forward to seeing me without my top.It's time to put my foot down.I turn and give him a look that says 'Yeah, right'.

"Mic, I'm a Marine Colonel," I insist."I have to maintain a certain level of decorum."Even if I am on a beach with liberal clothing policies half a world away from my duty station.I can just imagine if Harm. . . .no, I'm not going to think about that.Harm's not going to see me on this beach, topless or otherwise.He probably won't even know that I'm here with Mic.

"You're not a Marine Colonel out here, Mac," he says."You're just the most beautiful woman on the beach."There's a part of me that's touched and flattered – what woman wouldn't be by such praise? – but he's not the one that I want to hear those kinds of statements from.

Mic moves behind me and begins to untie the straps of my top.No.He's being very presumptuous, trying to remove my bikini top.There's a part of me that wants to grab the straps and tie them back around my neck and drop kick him into next week.But I don't want a public confrontation.I'll give him a piece of my mind later."Oh, ah. . . .why don't you just tie it behind my back so I don't get strap marks?" I suggest.

"Come on, Mac," he encourages me."When in Rome. . . ."I turn and look at him, slightly annoyed.I roll my eyes as I turn back and he hesitates a moment and I almost do grab the straps from him, but finally he complies with my request with a sigh.

Satisfied that I'm still appropriately covered, I settle into my chair and pull a magazine out of my bag.Mic moves his chair slightly so that he can get the best view of me, not that he's seeing much with my top still on.I ignore him, determined to just enjoy myself and not think about his unending pursuit of me.After a few minutes of basking in the sun, I feel a shadow cross over me and I look up as a reflex.My heart catches in my throat when I see Harm and Bud standing over us.

I drop the magazine onto my chest and force a smile."Hi!" I proclaim brightly.I wonder if anyone notices that I sound too cheerful."Isn't this wonderful?"

"Wonderful," Harm replies flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.God, he's jealous.He just found me on the beach with another man and. . . .God, he thinks I'm topless.With the magazine covering my chest, he can't see that I have my top on.

I turn to Bud and ask, "Oh, hey, Bud, did you get my message about dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies, sounding a bit embarrassed about the idea of catching me topless, while Mic looks disappointed that I have dinner plans with Bud."Dinner sounds great."

"Oh wait, I assumed we'd be having dinner, Mac," Mic says, almost sounding like he's pouting.

"Don't assume, Mic," I say pleasantly, with just enough of an edge to hopefully put him in his place.Suddenly, I remember something and tell Bud, "Hey, Bud, let me give you these pictures Harriet sent."

I reach beside me for the photos that Harriet had given to me to pass on to Bud, careful to keep the magazine over my chest.Why?It's not like Bud and Harm are going to see anything if the magazine slips, except that I *am* wearing my top.Maybe there's a small part of me that wants to see Harm jealous and wondering.After all, why would he be jealous if he didn't have feelings for me?And he clearly is jealous and curious, from the slightly disgusted look on his face to the way he's trying to look around my magazine.Or maybe it's not that he's curious as to whether I am wearing a top.Maybe he just wants to see me without it.But now, in front of Mic and Bud, is not the time to extend that particular offer.

Bud is flipping through the pictures I just gave him, marveling at his son."Wow!" he exclaims."He's gotten so big!"While Mic and Bud talk about baby AJ, I look at Harm looking at me.

"What?" I ask innocently.

I laugh at the expression on his face and Harm tears his gaze away and turns to Mic."Brumby, you questioned the witness without talking to his lawyer," he says firmly."That's unethical."

Mic is completely unrepentant when he replies, "Don't know if that's true even if she was his wife. . . .which she wasn't."

"They've been married for twenty-eight years," Harm shoots back.

"A bigamous marriage," Mic counters."He already had a wife."

I'd better step in before this escalates any further."Would you two save it for court?" I request."I'm trying to defrost here."

"Well, don't over-expose yourself," Harm retorts."You'll burn."

"Don't worry, mate," Mic says smugly."I rubbed her down withplenty of sun block."

Damn him.How dare he insinuate – in front of Harm, no less – that he's had his hands on my body like that?I turn and shoot Mic a dirty look, but the look that Harm gives him is even dirtier.

Bud jumps in quickly before the situation can explode, "Sir, isn't it time that we go?Sir?"

"Yeah," Harm finally says."As they say, four's a crowd."Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Mic looks happy that they're leaving, as if he's won something.That's what he thinks.

"Hey, how about dinner tomorrow?" I ask Harm as he starts to walk off.There's so much I want to say to him, especially now that he thinks that Mic and I. . . .I have to explain.

He turns back and hesitates, almost as if he's not sure.Eventually, he replies, "I'll call."

Mic just can't resist getting in one last shot at Harm.As they walk off, Mic calls out, "Don't forget your wigs when you come to court."

Great, I think as I roll my eyes.Bud and Harm shoot each other a look and Harm asks in disbelief, "Wigs?"

As they turn again and walk off, Mic asks me, "When are we going to have dinner?"

I turn to him, furious."Never," I declare angrily, "if you use me to provoke him again."

"Oh, come on, Mac. . . ." Mic begins, but I cut him off.

"No, I won't come on," I retort.I drop my magazine back into my bag and retie my top around my neck."I can't believe you did that.I had a long flight and instead of enjoying myself at the beach, what do I get?You playing your game of one-upmanship with Harm.I refuse to be put in the middle like that.I'm going back to my hotel and I'm going to get some rest and *maybe* I might have dinner with you later in the week.But if you ever use me like that again. . . ."

I let the threat hang in the air.Mic tries to assure me, "I wasn't using you. . . ."

I interrupt again, "It damn well felt like it.Don't do it again."

I grab my bag and sundress, fastening the dress around me as I walk off.I hear Mic behind me, scrambling to pack up the blanket and beach chairs.I don't care if he follows me or not.In fact, I'd rather he didn't.Right now, all I'm concerned about is how to salvage any hope I have of a relationship with Harm.

~*~*~*~

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT

0800 ZULU

SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Between my pleading jet lag and Mic's need to work on his case, I have managed to avoid him since the beach yesterday.He did leave a couple of messages at the hotel, saying that he wanted to apologize, but I just left a message for him at his office saying that I was tired and would see him in court tomorrow.Without Mic and his persistence to worry about, I could concentrate on rehearsing what exactly I was going to say to Harm.

Now, Harm and I are on the ferry going across Sydney Harbor.I dressed up a little, wearing an off the shoulder top and a skirt, both of which show off my body.After the attention that Harm was paying to me at the beach yesterday, how could he not appreciate the effect?I smile, content, as I listen to Harm tell me about his two near run-ins with Clay Webb.Harm seems so much more relaxed than he did yesterday when he saw me at the beach.That should make this easier.Determined to keep things easy between us, I comment about his story, "Didn't know Webb was multi-lingual."

"Maybe he's not," he replies with a grin."Both women were stunning, though."

Now that's a typical male response.Who needs to worry about talking when you're around a beautiful woman?Fortunately, I know that Harm's not usually that shallow.If he were, I'd definitely be in trouble."Are you saying that a man doesn't need to understand a woman as long as she's beautiful?" I tease.

Harm leans against the railing and turns to face me."Look, even speaking the same language," he replies, his tone serious in response to my teasing comment, "what man understands a woman?"

There's a feeling of something in the air and it's the feeling that we've reached a turning point.It's now or never."You're referring to me," I say with a little laugh.When he doesn't respond, looking away from me, I press on, "Ha.Let me guess.You don't understand why I went to the beach with Mic."

Harm continues to avoid my gaze, staring out over the harbor as he comments, "The Opera House is really beautiful, isn't it?"

I'm trying to open up with him and he's talking about a building!?"Smashing," I mutter, uninterested.I try to draw his attention back to our conversation – or at least, the conversation that I want to have."So what bothered you?That I was at the beach with him or that you thought I was topless?"

Finally, I got his attention and he turns back to me."You weren't?" he asks, stunned.

"Harmon Rabb, you are a prude!" I tease, hoping to get him to lighten up.But it's not working.

"I am not!" he protests seriously."Look, I don't care if you want to go topless."

Liar.If he didn't care, we wouldn't even be having this conversation.I would think as good a lawyer as Harm is, he would sound more convincing."You do if it's in front of Mic," I argue.

"You work with the guy, Mac," he counters."You wouldn't go topless in front of me, would you?"

The question, probably rhetorical, hangs in the air between us as we just stare at each other. There are so many ways I could respond to that comment, but I pick the one that I hope will get him to open up about his feelings for me."Is that a request?" I ask, all hint of teasing gone from my voice.I've never been more serious in my life.

For a moment, he just stares at me.Is he considering how to answer my question or trying to figure out if I'm serious?Looking uncomfortable, he looks away from me and up at the Sydney Harbor Bridge, which we're passing under right now.

"You know, they wrote 'eternity' on this bridge," he says quietly, "in lights on New Year's Eve."After a moment when I don't respond, he finally looks back down at me. 

"Is that how long we're going to wait?" I eventually ask, struggling to keep the tremor out of my voice.Oh, God, please say 'no'.Please.But no one's listening to my prayers and my heart breaks when he responds.

"Mac. . . ." he says, drawing out my name.He may as well have said 'yes', because his lack of a response has the same shattering impact on my soul.But I press him further, determined not to give up on him – on us – yet.

"We're not in Washington," I point out, shaking my head."We're not even on the same continent."

"Location doesn't change who we are," he counters.What is that supposed to mean?That we still work together?So do Bud and Harriet, but they made it work.Or that his feelings for me are only those of friendship, whether in Washington or here in Australia?

"Most men would disagree with you," I say sadly.

"I know," he admits."I disagree with me sometimes, too."

"But you still can't let go?" I ask.Right now, I wish that Harm weren't the honorable gentleman that he is and that he could forget all about rules and regulations.But if he were, he wouldn't be the man that I've fallen in love with.

"Not yet," he replies softly.

I'm fighting back tears as I say softly, "You're just this way with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. . . .only with you," he agrees and I wish that I could be one of those other women, the ones that he can let himself get involved with.But I guess some things just aren't meant to be – no matter how much we want them.

I look around for a moment as I take a deep breath, trying to control my trembling."I suppose I should be flattered," I say, dejected.I don't want to be flattered.I want to be loved.

"You should, Sarah," he says and my breath catches in my throat.This is only the second time he's called me Sarah and the first was the day I left JAG to go with Dalton.Is that what this is?Is this another goodbye, only this time to any hope I have of a romantic relationship with him?

I don't want to talk about this anymore.I can't talk about this anymore.It's just too painful with my heart lying around me in about a million pieces.Forcing a smile as I tear my gaze away from his, I ask, "Where are you gonna take me for dinner?"

"Luna Park," Harm replies, pointing across the water.I guess that makes it obvious what he feels for me.I mean, an amusement park is where you'd take a friend, right?If I meant more to him, then wouldn't he pick someplace a little more romantic?I didn't dress up with the intention of going to an amusement park.

"An amusement park?" I ask with a laugh, trying to mask my disappointment.

Harm shrugs as he points out, "You like hot dogs."

"And what is Mister 'practically-a-vegetarian' going to eat?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light and teasing.But it's so hard.I remember accusing Harm once of being able to turn his feelings off like a bilge switch.Right now, I wish I could ask him how he does it.Then maybe I wouldn't have to feel this pain in my heart.

"A corn dog," he jokes and I force myself to laugh, Harm joining in.His laugh sounds so easy.He doesn't have to work at this at all, does he?Of course not.He's not the one who just had his heart trampled on.We look at each other for another moment before I force myself to look away.Maybe if I don't look at him, I can manage to turn off my feelings.

As we step off the ferry, I stare at the park, wishing.I guess an amusement park could be romantic.Strolling through the park, hand in hand, eating cotton candy.Maybe competing for some stuffed animal.But I guess it doesn't matter since he just made his feelings quite clear.

Suddenly, I realize that Harm's not with me any more and I turn around, finding him standing at the other end of the dock."What are you doing?" I ask.

"This is where Seaman Dunsmore died twenty-eight years ago," he explains.I guess I was just fooling myself.I had this whole idea in my head about what tonight was going to be like and he brought me here to talk about the case."Petty Officer Lee's wife says she screamed, but she couldn't be heard because of the noise from the park."

Harm walks towards me and gives a small nod.I hesitate a moment, then turn towards the park and scream as loud as I can.We both watch for some kind of reaction, but there is none.I turn back to him and say, "I don't know how noisy the park was that night, but I think we can assume that kids have not gotten quieter over the years.You know, Harm, I think it's also safe to assume that there's no evidence here."I just want to get out of here, go back to my hotel room, and pretend that this night never happened.

But Harm's not paying any attention to me, caught up in the case.He begins moving around me in a fighting stance as if he were holding a knife."Plenty of room for a knife fight," he points out.

"Your defendant killed the Aussie with a knife?" I ask.Since I'm not directly involved, I only know what Admiral Chegwidden told us when we were first briefed about the case.That seems like a whole other lifetime ago.

"He didn't kill him," he protests, shaking his head as he continues to circle around me."Dunsmore fell on his own knife.It was an accident."

"And how did he do that?" I ask in disbelief.

"Dunsmore came at Lee with a knife," he explains, motioning to me.I stare at him for a moment, not wanting to do this, before I finally hold my hand up as if I'm holding a knife on him.But my heart's not in it.Harm grabs my wrist and it's all I can do not to yank my arm away from him as if I've just been burned."They struggled.Lee got behind him. . . .like this."

Harm moves around behind me, one hand still around my wrist, while he wraps his other arm around my throat.Just a few minutes ago, I would have given anything to be held in Harmon Rabb's arms.But knowing that it doesn't mean anything, now I want nothing more than to just get away.

Trying to forget about what being held by Harm does to me, I joke, glancing back over my shoulder at him, "Uh huh.You know, if this wasn't a reenactment, I'd have you on the dock with my foot on your neck."

He ignores me – I guess he's good at doing that – and continues, "They struggled. . . ."We begin moving across the dock, ". . . .across the dock and tripped over. . . .a cleat."We stop suddenly and stare down at the dock."There are no cleats."Finally, Harm takes his hands off me and I can't help being a little relieved and disappointed at the same time.Now, I don't have to pretend that his touch doesn't affect me."The ferry ties up to pilings."

"Maybe there were cleats in seventy-two," I suggest.

"Alright, say there were cleats," he replies."Where would they be?"

"Well, they'd be right here where the ferries tie up," I reply, stating the obvious.

But that's not the only thing that's obvious."So how would two men struggling with a knife trip over a cleat and fall onto the dock?" Harm asks.

"They wouldn't," I reply, realizing."They'd go right into the harbor.Harm, your client is lying."Now that we've done this, can we get out of here?I don't know how much more of this I can take – being so close and yet so far.

~*~*~*~

2130 ZULU

MANLEY BEACH

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

This case is just getting worse and worse.First, I practically get suckered into taking this case and now the defendant's wife claims that what she really knows about the night that Seaman Dunsmore died will destroy her husband.

Bud and I just stare at each other as Iwonder how I'm going to salvage any kind of defense.Something catches Bud's eye on the beach behind me and he suddenly asks, "Sir?Is that Colonel Mackenzie topless?"I stand and turn to look in the direction he's pointing and see Mac on the beach with Brumby.To say that I am stunned is the understatement of the year.What the hell does she think she is doing topless on a beach with Brumby?!

Determined, I stride across the beach towards them, Bud following behind.I stop right in front of Mac and she looks up at us, a smile on her face while Brumby is busy looking at the view hidden from me behind the magazine that she's holding."Hi!" she proclaims brightly."Isn't this wonderful?"

"Wonderful," I reply flatly, crossing my arms over my chest.I thought I knew her, but the Sarah Mackenzie I know wouldn't do something like this – sitting on the beach topless while Brumby leers at her.Or maybe that's exactly what she wants.She was the one who was so upset that she wasn't going to be coming to Australia in the first place.She's the one who volunteered to bring Seaman Dunsmore's body home.Brumby looks up at me as I stare at Mac, that annoying grin on his face.I'd love to be able to wipe it off.

Mac turns to Bud and asks, "Oh, hey, Bud, did you get my message about dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies, sounding a bit embarrassed as he tries to look anywhere but at Mac.Unable to help myself, I try to peek around her magazine."Dinner sounds great."

"Oh wait, I assumed we'd be having dinner, Mac," Brumby says, almost sounding like he's pouting.Good, if she's having dinner with Bud, then I won't have to worry about her being with Brumby.But why should I care?I mean, she did come to the beach with him and. . . .I don't want to think about the rest of it and what it means.

"Don't assume, Mic," Mac says pleasantly, smiling at him.She turns back to Bud and says, "Hey, Bud, let me give you these pictures Harriet sent."

Mac reaches beside her for the photos that Harriet had given to me to pass on to Bud, the magazine remaining over her chest.I try to look over the top of the magazine, but she's holding it against her so that nothing is visible.

Bud is flipping through the pictures Mac just handed him, conversing with Brumby about the pictures while I can't tear my eyes away from Mac.I should, though.She's obviously made her choice.I just never thought she'd be this blatant about it.

She looks up at me, apparently amused."What?" she asks innocently.As if she doesn't know.

I finally manage to tear my gaze away and she laughs.Now it's obvious that she's amused by this whole situation.There's a little part of me that's angry.I don't find this situation very funny.What happened to the woman who was crying in my arms the day I left JAG all those months ago?What happened to the woman who acted annoyed at all the attention Brumby was paying her, even after he had left Washington?I guess it wasn't unwanted attention after all.I almost don't recognize this woman sitting on the beach in front of me.Frustrated, I decide to take it out on Brumby.He makes such a good target, particularly now."Brumby, you questioned the witness without talking to his lawyer," I say firmly."That's unethical."

Brumby is completely unrepentant when he replies, "Don't know if that's true even if she was his wife. . . .which she wasn't."

"They've been married for twenty-eight years," I shoot back.

"A bigamous marriage," he counters."He already had a wife."

Mac steps in before I can argue back."Would you two save it for court?" she requests."I'm trying to defrost here."

"Well, don't over-expose yourself," I retort, a bit sarcastically."You'll burn."

"Don't worry, mate," Brumby says smugly, his usual annoying grin still present."I rubbed her down withplenty of sun block."

Damn him, I think as I shoot him the dirtiest look I can manage.Mac shoots him a look as well, but hers doesn't make any sense.She's the one who chose to come here with Brumby and. . . .expose. . . .herself the way she has.I idly wonder what are the odds that I'll make it off this beach without throwing away my career by throttling the smug bastard.

Bud jumps in quickly before the situation can explode, "Sir, isn't it time that we go?"I ignore him, still glaring at Brumby and Bud asks again, "Sir?"

"Yeah," I finally say."As they say, four's a crowd."Brumby smiles, obviously pleased at my retreat.I don't consider it a retreat.I just don't believe in humiliating myself by staying someplace where I'm obviously not wanted and putting myself through the torture of watching the woman that I have feelings for acting so cozy with another man.

"Hey, how about dinner tomorrow?" Mac asks me as Bud and I start to walk off.

I turn back and hesitate, not sure how to respond.I don't know if I can tolerate an evening with Mac, not after what I've seen here.Eventually, I reply, "I'll call."

Brumby just can't resist getting in one last shot as I turn again to walk off.As we walk off, he calls out, "Don't forget your wigs when you come to court."

Stunned, Bud and I just stare at each other and I ask in disbelief, "Wigs?"

As we walk off the beach, I force myself not to look back.I just wish I could get the image out of my mind of Mac topless on the beach with Mic Brumby.I thought. . . .I guess it doesn't matter what I thought anymore.Obviously, I'm nothing more than just a friend to her.I guess I've got to live with it, just like I've been living with it since the day I returned to JAG.

~*~*~*~

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT

0800 ZULU

SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Mac and I are on the ferry going across Sydney Harbor.She's dressed up, which I don't get.She looks like someone trying to impress a man, but she's got Brumby to impress.I try to convince myself that I'm immune to the effect, but it's difficult.I try to keep the conversation casual and light by telling her about how Bud and I almost ran into Clayton Webb twice here in Sydney.But just that much takes an enormous effort on my part.I try to remind myself that I'm a lawyer and it's my job to be convincing, whether to a jury or the woman that I care for.As I finish discussing the Webb and his women, she comments, "Didn't know Webb was multi-lingual."

"Maybe he's not," I reply with a grin."Both women were stunning, though."Yeah, let's think about what those other women looked like and not about Mac standing here in front of me wearing an outfit that hugs her body in all the right places.No, I can't think like that.Not anymore.

"Are you saying that a man doesn't need to understand a woman as long as she's beautiful?" she counters with a laugh.

I lean back against the ferry's railing and turn to face her."Look, even speaking the same language," I reply, my tone serious, "what man understands a woman?"Right now, I'm thinking about how much I do not understand her, at least not in the last two days.

"You're referring to me," she says with a laugh.I can't think of anything to say, knowing that she's right, and I look away from her.I really don't want to have this conversation, because then I have to think about her and Brumby. . . .She presses on, "Ha.Let me guess.You don't understand why I went to the beach with Mic."

I turn away as I grip the railing, imagining that it's Brumby's throat I've got my hands around, unwilling to look her in the eye, staring out over the harbor as I comment, trying to change the subject, "The Opera House is really beautiful, isn't it?"I don't really care about the Opera House, but I care even less about having this discussion.

"Smashing," she mutters.To my frustration, she doesn't take the hint and returns to our previous topic."So what bothered you?That I was at the beach with him or that you thought I was topless?"

Oh, my God.Stunned, I turn back to her."You weren't?" I ask.But that doesn't make any sense.If she wasn't topless yesterday, why would she let me believe that she was?I can't imagine Mac stringing me along, teasing me like that.Then again, after yesterday, I'm not so sure that I can honestly say what Mac would do in any given situation.

"Harmon Rabb, you are a prude!" she exclaims.What does that have to do with anything?Whether or not I am a prude – which I am not – has nothing to do with this discussion.I thought she knew me better than that.Being on that beach and seeing all the topless women didn't bother me. 

I should just tell her that it was the sight of one woman, apparently topless, that bothered me.But what would be the point now?"I am not!" I argue."Look, I don't care if you want to go topless."Right, and if she believes that I've got a bridge to sell.

"You do if it's in front of Mic," she counters.

I am not about to admit that she's hit the nail right on the head.Again, what would be the point unless she is enjoying playing Brumby and I off of each other?And Mac wouldn't do that.Right?"You work with the guy, Mac," I argue."You wouldn't go topless in front of me, would you?"

That last part just kind of slips out before I can stop myself and the rhetorical question hangs in the air between us as we just stare at each other."Is that a request?" she asks, all hints of laughter gone from her voice.

I just stare at her.Now, I'm even more convinced that this can't possible be Sarah Mackenzie standing in front of me.The Mac I know wouldn't spend yesterday letting Brumby fawn all over her and then practically proposition me the following night.As much as I want to take her in my arms and carry her off somewhere, I can't – not under these circumstances.Let's not even talk about how screwed up my life is right now and how I am in no condition emotionally for a serious, long-term relationship.And that's what I would want with her.But only if she wants it, too.And a woman going back and forth between two men is not in a good place for a long-term relationship, either.

Feeling uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is going in, I look away from Mac and up at the Sydney Harbor Bridge, which we're passing under right now."You know, they wrote 'eternity' on this bridge," I say quietly, trying to change the subject again as I grip the deck railing even tighter, "in lights on New Year's Eve."Mac doesn't respond immediately and I begin to think that maybe she's decided to drop the subject.Feeling safer, I look back down at her. 

"Is that how long we're going to wait?" she asks, obviously not taking the hint.

Wait for what?For Mac to decide if it's me or Brumby she wants?For me to throw everything away for a roll in the hay with her?For her to decide that she wants more than the casual relationship with me that she's apparently suggesting?"Mac. . . ." I say, drawing out her name.

"We're not in Washington," she points out, shaking her head."We're not even on the same continent."

"Location doesn't change who we are," I counter.Being away from Washington doesn't make my life any less screwed up.Being away from Washington doesn't make her relationship with Brumby any less real.Being away from Washington doesn't make me want to honor her any less.

"Most men would disagree with you," she says.

"I know," I admit.Being away from Washington also doesn't make me want her any less.But I can't do it, not like this. "I disagree with me sometimes, too."

"But you still can't let go?" she asks.

Let go of what?I'm not entirely sure what she's referring to.Maybe she wants me to let go of everything I believe in for one night with her.I give her the answer that I think she expects and the one that will probably get me out of this awkward situation."Not yet," I reply softly.

She asks softly, her voice sounding a bit odd, "You're just this way with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. . . .only with you," I agree.Of course, I am.I've never felt for a woman, even Diane, what I feel for the beautiful, courageous woman standing in front of me.I value and honor Sarah Mackenzie too much to settle for just jumping in the sack with her on a whim.I want to give her roses and candlelight dinners and everything that men are supposed to give the woman they love more than anything in the world.I just wish to God she wanted me to give her those things.But she doesn't.

Mac diverts her eyes for a moment before she finally replies,"I suppose I should be flattered."

"You should, Sarah," I say gently in agreement, glad that she seems to understand what I'm telling her.Now it's time to put this conversation behind us.In another place and time, when my life is not so screwed up and she's put Brumby behind her, then it will be our time.I guess I just need to be patient and wait while we both work through some issues.But I can do that, for her.Only for her. 

She smiles, apparently agreeing that this conversation is over and asks, "Where are you gonna take me for dinner?"

"Luna Park," I reply, pointing across the water.

"An amusement park?" she asks, laughing.

I shrug as I point out, "You like hot dogs."

"And what is Mister 'practically-a-vegetarian' going to eat?" she teases, sounding more like her old self.Good.I would have hated for this situation to ruin our friendship, not after it's taken so long to work our way back towards each other.If we can't be together right now the way that I would like, I still have our friendship to hold on to.

"A corn dog," I joke, raising my eyebrows.She laughs and I join in.I force myself to relax my grip on the railing, glad that we seem to be putting this awkward situation behind us.

As we step off the ferry, Mac stares at the park while I walk around the dock, studying it, trying to imagine in my mind the scene in 1972.

Mac turns to me and asks, "What are you doing?" 

"This is where Seaman Dunsmore died twenty-eight years ago," I explain."Petty Officer Lee's wife says she screamed, but she couldn't be heard because of the noise from the park."

I walk towards her and give a small nod.She hesitates a moment, then turns towards the park and screams as loud as she can.We both watch for some kind of reaction, but there is none.She turns back to me and says, "I don't know how noisy the park was that night, but I think we can assume that kids have not gotten quieter over the years.You know, Harm, I think it's also safe to assume that there's no evidence here."

She probably has a point, but something just doesn't sit right, not since my conversation with Jenny yesterday, and I'm determined to figure out what it is.Anyway, concentrating on the case helps me push aside. . . .other concerns.I begin moving around Mac in a fighting stance as if I was Seaman Dunsmore holding a knife on Petty Officer Lee."Plenty of room for a knife fight," I point out.

"Your defendant killed the Aussie with a knife?" she asks and I remember that wasn't covered in the briefing that Admiral Chegwidden gave us before we left Washington.And I don't suppose her time with Brumby was spent talking about. . . . No, I've got to stop thinking about that.Mac and I have reached an understanding and I've got to let it rest for now.

"He didn't kill him," I protest, shaking my head as I continue to circle around her."Dunsmore fell on his own knife.It was an accident."

"And how did he do that?" she asks in disbelief.

"Dunsmore came at Lee with a knife," I explain, motioning to her.She stares at me for a moment, before finally holding her hand up as if she's holding a knife on me.I grab her wrist and continue,"They struggled.Lee got behind him. . . .like this."

I move around behind her, one hand still around her wrist, while I wrap my other arm around her throat.She puts her hand over mine and I have to force myself to concentrate on our reenactment and not the tingling sensation where her hand is touching mine.

She jokes, glancing back over her shoulder at me, "Uh huh.You know, if this wasn't a reenactment, I'd have you on the dock with my foot on your neck."That sounds like my favorite kickass jarhead.

I resist the urge to smile and continue the story, "They struggled. . . ."We begin moving across the dock, ". . . .across the dock and tripped over. . . .a cleat."We stop suddenly and stare down at the dock."There are no cleats."I drop my hands, stunned."The ferry ties up to pilings."

"Maybe there were cleats in seventy-two," she suggests.

"Alright, say there were cleats," I reply, considering."Where would they be?"

"Well, they'd be right here where the ferries tie up," she replies, sounding as if it were so obvious.

Yeah, it is obvious and that's not the only thing that is."So how would two men struggling with a knife trip over a cleat and fall onto the dock?" I ask rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

"They wouldn't," she replies."They'd go right into the harbor.Harm, your client is lying."As we stare down at the edge of the dock, I can't help but wondering what is wrong with my life.My personal life is so screwed up and now this big case – that I'm opposing Brumby on, no less – is sinking fast and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do to stop it.

~*~*~*~

5 DAYS AFTER THE FERRY RIDE

HYDE PARK

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

I wish I knew how he does it.I pretty much humiliated myself, throwing myself at Harm on the ferry, and he has managed to act like the whole conversation never happened.The last few days, he's been treating me the same as he always does and he makes it look so easy.On the other hand, I have to force myself to smile and act normally towards the man who rejected me, the man that I thought I loved and who I thought could love me.I recall accusing him once of being able to turn his feelings. . . .'on and off like a bilge switch' is the phrase that I think I used.A part of my wishes that I could ask him how he does it.Maybe I could learn how to do it, too, and then I wouldn't have to pretend and then it wouldn't hurt so much.

Court is in recess and I go outside with Harm and Bud, sitting on the bench next to Bud while Harm stands over us, still in his robes for court but minus the wig.I didn't really want to be in such close proximity to Harm – after all, it's easier when I don't have face him and don't have to act like there's nothing wrong, don't have to act like there isn't this big, aching hole in my heart.But someone has to translate for poor Bud, who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time between Harm's and Mic's fists a few days ago.

"I feel so helpless sitting behind you, Sir," Bud mumbles through his wired jaw.Harm looks at him, confused.

Come on, Mac.You can do this.You can talk to Harm without falling apart."He said he feels helpless sitting behind you," I translate.See, that wasn't so bad, was it?Yeah, right.I don't know if I can ever convince myself of that.

"You're guarding my back, Bud," Harm comforts him, smiling.

Bud mumbles, "Thank you, Sir."

"He said 'thank you'," I pipe in, managing a smile myself.

Harm asks me, "How is it that you're the only one who understands him?"

God, he had to ask me a direct question, didn't he?This was easier when I was just translating for Bud.Breathe, Sarah, and just answer the question.You can get through this."Well, my father's jaw was wired when I was a kid," I reply.That wasn't so bad.Maybe it will get easier as I keep talking and let myself relax into the conversation."I guess it's like learning a foreign language."

"I'd rather be speaking French," Bud says.

I imagine he'd be laughing if his jaw wasn't wired, so I force myself to laugh as relate what he said to Harm.I even manage to smile at Harm.Harm laughs as well, but it quickly turns to a groan of pain as he grabs his side.The sight of Harm in pain nearly shakes my resolve to act normal.I want nothing more than to comfort him right now, but I've humiliated myself enough.I simply ask, "Broken rib?"

Harm grimaces as he corrects me, "Ribs.Two."

"I can't believe the Admiral forced the two of you to fight," Bud says.

That was directed at Harm, but I don't translate, responding to Bud, "I don't think it took much forcing."Although I'm not sure I understand the reasons, not anymore.I used to think that a lot of the hostility between Harm and Mic, at least since Harm returned from the Patrick Henry, stemmed from jealousy, plain and simple.I mean, he certainly acted like it when he would get his digs in about what he perceived to be mine and Mic's relationship back when Mic was still at JAG.But after our conversation on the ferry, I just don't know anymore.I used to think that I knew Harm so well, but I was wrong about his feelings for me, wasn't I?I guess I was just reading things that weren't there.

"With all due respect," Bud says, managing to sound a bit forceful even through his wired jaw, "it's really your fault, Ma'am.They were fighting over you."

I freeze for a second, looking down at my coffee cup as all the bandages that I'd wrapped around my aching heart are ripped off with one statement from Bud.It shouldn't bother me, because I know that Harm doesn't feel that way about me.But there's a part of me that wishes that it was true, that they had been fighting over me.Then I would know that I stand a chance with Harm.

"What did he say?" Harm asks.He sounds so serious, all traces of humor gone from his voice.

Angry at this situation, at Harm's lack of feelings, at my feelings that I can't control, I lie, "That, uh, you deserved what you got."I get up and start walking without a backward glance, not stopping until I'm back inside the courthouse.Only then do I let my mask slip as I lean against the wall, wishing that a lot of things were different and that all of this could be easier.

~*~*~*~

FIVE DAYS LATER

NEW SOUTH WALES SUPREME COURT

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

After the ups and down that this case has taken, I even had doubts that I could pull this one off.But I did it, as evidenced by the not guilty verdict just handed down by the jury.As Petty Officer Lee takes off to go straighten things out with his wife before we take him back to the States to clear up the desertion charge against him, Brumby comes over and offers his congratulations.

"Congratulations, Harm," he says.The smug bastard actually manages to sound sincere."Didn't think you could beat me on my home court."

The smile I give him actually is genuine – after all, I did win.I joke, "The wig made it an even playing field."

"Didn't take him into custody," Mac says as she walks up to the table.She sounds so relaxed, so normal and I'm glad.After our conversation on the ferry, I was a bit worried that it would be awkward for both of us – wanting more and not being able to have it right now.We're finally getting our friendship back on track after all these months and I was worried that what happened might have an adverse effect.Fortunately, we have apparently managed to put the conversation behind us for now, to be picked up again at some date in the future – hopefully the near future – when we're both ready to pursue what was hinted at that night.

"Oh, he's not going to run, Mac," I reply confidently."Not when all he has to do is pick up a few papers to be free."

The Admiral walks up to us and offers his congratulations, shaking my hand.After a moment, Mac echoes the sentiment and offers me her own hand.I shake it, relishing the brief contact, until Brumby has to spoil the moment."I'd have expected more than a handshake if I'd won, Mac," he cuts in.

Mac doesn't look happy with his bold statement.Although angry myself, I manage to sound pleasant when I retort, "You always expect more than you deserve."

"Mic," Mac says before he can follow up the dirty look he gives me with a reply to my cutting remark, "I'm leaving tomorrow.Would you like to have dinner tonight?"Mac, what are you doing?Has she lost her mind again?Or maybe she never regained her sanity after Manly Beach.I can't keep the look of disgust off my face.

I'm tempted to wipe that smug look off Brumby's face, but I'm still bearing painful reminders of my last go around with him.He replies, "I'd love it, Sarah."Remain calm, Rabb.Let's not make a scene in front of the Admiral.You don't need to suffer through any more of his ideas of non-judicial punishment.

Before they leave, Mac says, "Great.I'll see you at the airport, Harm, Admiral."

As I watch them leave, the Admiral says, "Well, you win some and you lose some."Bud pats my back, almost as if he's offering his condolences.As they leaves, I wonder what the hell all this is supposed to mean.It's just dinner, right?And we're going back to the States tomorrow and Brumby's staying here.He'll be out of our lives again, hopefully this time for good and we can get back to normal.Then I can work at straightening out the mess that is currently my life and I'll finally be ready to let go for Mac.

~*~*~*~

THAT NIGHT

1130 ZULU

SYDNEY HARBOR

SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

Sarah Mackenzie, what the hell is wrong with you?You're going out to dinner with a man who wants to shower you with attention, who went so far as to wear dress whites, and all you can think about is how a certain US Navy Commander looks in dress whites and gold wings.Harm doesn't feel about you the way you want him to, so stop thinking about him and try to enjoy this evening.Right.Maybe that would be easier if we weren't on this damn ferry.As we go across Sydney Harbor, I can't stop thinking about another ferry ride. . . .

Sarah, why don't you try talking to the man?Not talking leaves too much time for thinking and it's obvious that too much thinking is no good."I can't believe you're wearing a formal dress uniform," I say as we walk along the deck.Not bad, Sarah.I even manage a smile, although Mic can't see it walking behind me.But maybe if I keep smiling I can convince myself that I'm in a good mood and what happened the last time on this ferry doesn't bother me anymore.

"Special occasions call for special attire," Mic replies seriously.

Special occasion?"We're just having dinner, Mic," I reply, managing a light laugh.I hope he's not assuming again.

"We're having more than that," he counters.

Okay, so he is assuming again.I guess I really shouldn't be surprised.I'm not sure I'm in the mood to deal with Mic's assumptions, but I know that if I weren't out for dinner with him right now, I'd be back at my hotel right now staring at the walls of my room and wondering what the hell went wrong the last time I rode this ferry.And I'm getting tired of dwelling on it."Don't presume, remember?" I remind him, still smiling.

"I'm not," Mic disagrees, his voice sounding so serious."I'm talking about having a serious discussion."I take in a shaky breath, hoping that this isn't going to be something similar to Manly Beach.At least I don't have to worry about him rubbing this in Harm's. . . ."I know you like me."

What kind of statement is that?No, Mic, I generally go out to dinner with men that I hate."Of course, I like you, Mic" I reply, laughing, as we stop and I turn to face him, unsure of what else to say, of what kind of answer he's looking for.

He steps closer and puts his hands on my waist, gently rubbing upwards.That feels good, but. . . ."I'm in love with you, Sarah," he says and my heart stops in my chest.He what?He didn't just say that.No.For a brief second, I wish that it was Harm standing in front of me, wearing his dress whites, declaring his love for me.Stop it, Sarah!It's Mic standing in front of you, not Harm.It will never be Harm.He made that perfectly clear.I start to protest, holding up my hand, but Mic silences me.

"For once in your life, just listen," he says quietly, staring at me intently.I can't believe we're having this discussion.Then again, a lot has happened on this trip that I can't believe."I've loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you.I've never acted so foolishly or ached so hard in my heart in all my life."

Oh, God.I'm hearing all the right words.He's saying everything that I've ever wanted to hear from a man in my life. . . .everything that I've ever wanted to hear from. . . .No.Don't go there.I look into Mic's eyes and I see so much sincerity and love there.I wish that I could respond the way he wants me to.Maybe I can.I mean, he's obviously crazy about me and I do care about him.I lean forward slightly, about to kiss him, but he stops me."No, let me finish, please," I requests, "while I still have the strength."I nod.I want to hear these things.I just wish. . . .well, that's not important any more.

"I knew that getting you to love an ocher like me would take a miracle," he continues.He looks up at the stars above us and moves slightly behind me."Look," he adds.I look up, losing myself in the beauty of the stars above us."I'm pray one will fall from the Southern Cross tonight."

Slightly confused by that last statement, I look back down to find Mic holding a diamond ring in front of me.I can't help but laugh, but it's a nervous laugh.I can't help thinking that this can't really be happening.I mean, men don't take women that they've never even dated on ferry rides in full dress uniform, declare their love and offer them a ring.

"Oh, my God," is the only thing I can think of to say.This is just. . . .I suddenly feel overwhelmed.But my mind keeps drifting to topics that it shouldn't be thinking about and I realize that I can't do this to Mic.He's offering me the world and I can't stop thinking about another man.

I gently push his hand away as I turn to face him."Ah, it's impossible, Mic," I say, shaking my head, no longer laughing.

"Once you'd have said me holding you in my arms under the Southern Cross would be impossible," he counters with a smile as he wraps his arms around me.

I manage a laugh again, but it's a forced one, as I agree, "You're right."

He shrugs as he continues, "I mean, I know it won't be easy.God knows we've got a lot to work out.Your career.Mine."He just looks at me for a moment, his hand gently caressing my shoulder and I feel myself responding just a little.He's being so sweet and saying all the words that I need so much to hear.But he assumes that when I talk about impossible, that I'm referring to things like careers and the ten thousand miles that will shortly be between us.But those aren't the only things that would need to be worked out.There are others, things that he knows nothing about – like my feelings for another man that I can't seem to turn off."But I'm willing to make any sacrifice.Any.If you'll just be my wife."

There's a catch in his voice as he says that last part and I find myself responding for reasons that I can't completely understand or explain.I'm so touched and I let myself kiss him, trying to imagine what it would be like to be Mrs. Mic Brumby.But there's too much inside me that's unsettled and it's not fair to subject him to that.I break off the kiss and step back."I need time to think," I say gently.I don't want to hurt him, not after the way he's poured his heart out to me.I don't want to hurt him the way that Harm has hurt me.

"Absolutely," he promises and I release a shaky breath and manage to laugh.I'm still not quite sure I believe that this is happening to me.To say that this is unreal is the understatement of the year.After a moment, he smiles and asks, "Well?"

I know he's just trying to be funny, so I laugh gaily, playfully slapping his chest."More time," I say.But I'm serious about needing time.I can't just turn off some feelings and turn on others.But maybe I can learn to.

"Wear my ring," Mic asks.I start shaking my head, feeling even more overwhelmed.He said that he'd let me have time, but he wants me to wear his ring?"On your right hand," he quickly adds, taking the hand in question and placing the ring on my finger before I can even think to offer a protest."Until you decide."

I look down at the ring on my finger, still thinking that I'm eventually going to wake up and find that this is all a dream."Then all you have to do is swap it over to the other hand," he continues, still holding my hand.He shrugs as I flex my fingers, the ring feeling foreign on my hand."Or not."What am I supposed to do now.I really shouldn't wear his ring, not now, but now that he's put it on my finger, I do I tell him that?

He kisses me again and I tell myself that I could do a lot worse than a man who is willing to give me the moon and the stars.I have done worse.Why shouldn't I take what he's offering?Men like him don't come along every day.And maybe if I tell myself this enough times, I'll make myself fall in love with him and I'll be able to forget about. . . .other things.And other people.

~*~*~*~

THE NEXT DAY

0415 ZULU

SYDNEY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

I can't believe this.Yesterday, I was on top of the world, having beaten Brumby in court on his own turf.Now, I know that I got a guilty man off.How could I have done that?How could I have fallen for such an obvious setup?Since I now know what happened, I can look back and see exactly how Bud and I were led to 'discover' Jenny's affair and to use it against her in court.

I know exactly how it happened.I let my personal feelings control me.I was so determined to win one over Brumby that I lost sight of the truth.I let my jealousy and strong distaste for the man cloud my judgment.Way to go, Rabb.I guess that proves that I was right to ask Mac to wait for me instead of jumping into anything right now.My life is so screwed up and this latest incident just makes it even more obvious.What can I say in my defense except that Brumby brings out the worst in me?My only consolation in all this is that we can press the desertion case against Petty Officer Lee, going full speed ahead with a court-martial for desertion in time of war instead of letting him walk away with his administrative separation.

"Did he show up yet?" Brumby asks as he and Mac join us, Mac in her uniform and Brumby in shorts and a rugby shirt.I try to force down the twinge of jealousy I feel at seeing them walk up together.I try to tell myself that it doesn't mean anything.

"Not yet," I reply dully, unable to tear my eyes away from them.My only consolation with this situation is that we're about to get on a plane that will take us back to the States, leaving Brumby behind and out of our lives.

"I can't wait to see the look on that bastard's face. . . ." he begins.Brumby and I actually do agree about something.Wonders never cease, I guess.I suppose if I were him, I'd be pissed, too.

Bud mumbles something that I take to mean that Petty Officer Lee is headed this way.I turn my head and find that I'm correct in my interpretation of what Bud just said.

He smiles as he joins us, carrying his bag."Told you I'd be here, Commander," he says.

"So you did," I reply, just staring at him.After the way he played me, there's a part of me that's going to enjoy this.

"No hard feelings," he tells Brumby, although the smile has fallen from his face."I know you were just doing your job."

"None at all, mate," Brumby replies, sounding so cool about it, although I can imagine that he's actually seething inside.After all, he failed to successfully prosecute a defendant who it turns out actually is guilty.

We all start at Lee for a moment and he looks at us, beginning to feel that something is not quite right."Is something wrong?" he asks.

"On the contrary," I reply, "something is finally right.Lieutenant Roberts?"

As Bud handcuffs Lee and reads him his rights, I inwardly breath a sigh of relief.I may have screwed up this case, but I'm going to make it right.Soon, I'll make everything right."Should have waited until after the court-martial to celebrate," I tell Lee firmly after he is informed that he was caught celebrating with Jenny and Harold."Though we can't try you for murder one again, I *am* going to nail you for desertion in a time of war."

"I hope you go for the death penalty, mate," Brumby tells me.

We're getting ready to leave Mic Brumby behind forever, so I find myself able to admit that I agree with him on something."Absolutely, mate," I reply, continuing to stare at Lee.He screwed with the wrong lawyer.

The Admiral orders Bud to take Lee on board the plane and I bend down to pick up my carry on bag."Colonel, are congratulations in order?" the Admiral asks.

I straighten back up, stunned, and turn to look at Mac, who is fiddling with her hair, a diamond ring sparkling on her finger.Oh, God, no.Please, no.

~*~*~*~

At the Admiral's question, I look at the ring on my hand, still surprised to see it there.It still doesn't seem real.It still doesn't feel real."Ah, it's on the right hand, Sir," I explain, noticing Harm's eyes on me.I can't quite read the expression on his face and I shouldn't really care.After all, he made his feelings quite clear that night.It doesn't matter what he thinks nor do I care what he is thinking.Yeah, right.

"Ah, so it is," the Admiral replies, nodding.But I barely notice, unable to tear my gaze away from Harm's.

"A friendship ring?" Harm asks.Damn you, Harmon Rabb.You didn't want me.What the hell do you care what kind of ring it is?If I decide to move it over to my left hand, why should it matter to you at all?Why can't you just let me be happy?Why do you begrudge me taking everything that Mic is offering me, the things that I had wanted you to give me?But no, you couldn't let go and now I'm wearing another man's ring.And that's something that you're just going to have to live with, because I'm not going to let you – or any feelings that I might have left for you - ruin my chance at being happy.

"For now," Mic replies.I glance at him, but then my eyes follow Harm as he follows the Admiral towards the gate.I shouldn't be looking after him.I've got Mic now.I turn to Mic, who does as I requested earlier and simply kisses my cheek.

"I love you, Sarah Mackenzie," he says.

I smile, telling myself that this is a good man and that I could be happy with him."Oh, Mic," I say softly, putting my arms around him and kissing him.I can feel Harm's eyes on me and I deepen this kiss.I shouldn't be doing this, letting my. . . . feelings for Harm dictate my actions with Mic, but I can't help it.I want him to know what he could have had, what we could have had together.And I want him to think about what not letting go has cost him.

~*~*~*~

I glance back, my heart sinking as I watch Mac kiss Brumby.God, how can this be happening?Why, Sarah?I just needed her to wait for me.I just needed a little more time.I had thought she understood that.She couldn't have hurt me more if she'd plunged a knife into my stomach and twisted it.

I think the Admiral senses the direction of my thoughts, because he stops and turns to me.He advises me, "Commander, never look back."

I force myself to tear my gaze away from. . . .what's going on behind me to look at him."No, Sir," I agree sadly, nodding.He continues towards the gate and I follow.He's right.I shouldn't look back.I won't look back.

I hand my ticket to the gate attendant and wait patiently to be checked in and my boarding pass returned.I won't look back.No, I won't.But I'm fighting a losing battle and, unable to help myself, I turn back, watching the woman I love in the arms of another man and wearing his ring while my heart breaks.

~*~*~*~


End file.
